


The Unlucky Man of Zemansky Street

by Miamber01



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, Underage - Freeform, adult!mickey, age gap, black and white, literally the SLOWEST BURN, soulmate, soulmate fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-04-08 05:16:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14098053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miamber01/pseuds/Miamber01
Summary: "The irony of being a gold star gay raising a kid, wasn't lost on Mickey. He just never let himself think about it til nights like these with Mandy asleep next to him, her breathing deep and even. Of course he had a soulmate, everyone did, but they also could choose to stay and Mickey knew his other half would opt out. Out of early parenthood, out of this shitty house, and most especially, opt out of a life with a piece of Southside trash that didn't even finish high school for a partner. Sometimes, Mickey let himself feel it, the ache in his chest that bloomed when he thought of a life alone. But then the sun would rise, and he'd tuck all that gay shit away because it was time to get Mandy ready for school. She was all that mattered, if he could get her through school and out of this shithole city, everything would be worth it."





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> This is my first fic so please lemme know if you like it. 
> 
> This story has a big twelve year age gap between Ian and Mickey so be warned. However nothing happens until Ian is of age, hence why this is a slooooowwwww burn. The slowest of burns. It's gonna focus a lot on Ian, Mickey and Mandy's friend ships at first, so strap in. 
> 
> Also, I love criticism, so please let me know anything you think this work can benefit from, and point out any spelling/grammar mistakes.

Mickey made it his business to stay out of others. Kitten stuck in a tree? Not his problem. Burning building? He’d stroll right by it, chugging a bottle of water without a second thought. So why he felt himself thinking of moving to disentangle some scrawny kid from the middle of what was a very unfair fight, he couldn’t say.

He’d been sitting on his porch drinking his first celebratory birthday beer of the day when the school bus grumbled to a stop down the street. He furrowed his brow; he’d never made it home early enough to see the gray chunk of metal clunk down the road, but then again, he’d never had a job with benefits before. Benefits like a paid half day off on his birthday. He thought it was a scam when he’d first heard it. “Paid time off”, “Sick time”, people actually paying you money not to work. He didn’t trust it; he was Southside, Southside businesses didn’t just give you half a day’s pay just because it’s the anniversary of your parents fucking you into the world. Gentrification or not, Mickey felt he knew a con when he saw one.

As the time ticked closer to the midpoint of his shift, he found himself growing increasingly wary. With Terry gone, he needed all the hours he could get to keep the house afloat. Between keeping a roof over their heads, food in both of their stomachs, and a few bucks in Mandy’s college fund every month, he barely had enough cash for the six-pack of the cheapest beer he had decided to gift himself.

He’d tried to play it cool during his shift at the recycling plant, kept his head low as he sorted one colorless lump of trash from the other, hoping his supervisor would forget this birthday business. But it was just his luck when his portly supervisor, Rob, ambled up to him at twelve-fifty and clapped him on the back hard enough to send Mickeys eyebrows flying upwards in surprise. He wished Mickey a ‘happy birthday’ and promptly sent him home for the day, ignoring any protests. Rob ensured him that, yes, Mickey would still be getting paid for the day, and, yes, he knew Mickey would break his kneecaps if he fucked with his pay, so “hurry along now, see you tomorrow.”

One quick trip to the liquor store and slow walk home later, Mickey currently found himself chugging back a cold beer, and seriously considering breaking up the fight that was taking place directly across the street.

Perhaps ‘fight’ was too generous a word for the situation at hand, it was more like a kid getting jumped. One small kid that was curled up in a ball, and three bigger kids stood over him. He really didn’t want to get involved, but, after looking around, he noted that he was the only adult on the street and sighed. He took a gulp of his beer and looked at the bottle. It was less than half full and growing warmer by the second. Sweat collected around the outside of the bottle and slid towards his palm. He’d decided that if the kids were still there by the time he finished his beer, he’d intervene. Until then, the kid was on his own. Besides, he reasoned as he watched the small kid get kicked, getting your ass beat was good for your character.

That’s what Terry used to say after stumbling in drunk after a bar brawl, his shirt spackled with someone else’s blood. Mickey had thought it was bullshit back then, but now, he wasn’t sure if he’d be strong enough to raise a kid and put up with his fucked-up life if he hadn’t taken a fist or two to the jaw growing up. Whether the fist was attached to his father’s arm or not was irrelevant.

After another minute, Mickey knocked back the rest of his beer, set it on the step next to him and cracked his knuckles, preparing to begrudgingly be the adult of Zemansky Street. Before he could take a step, he heard a shrill yell come from the alley on the side of the house, followed by the blur of Mandy running towards the group of boys. Her backpack was still on and she had the baton that Mickey had given her extended at her side.

The tallest of the three boys turned around just in time to see Mandy as she brought her baton down clear across the back of his knees. He let out a scream as he dropped to the ground, one that Mickey could only describe as ‘embarrassingly feminine’. At the same time, the victim used the distraction Mandy had provided and lashed out with unsettling speed, biting the thigh of the boy closest to him. The boy let out an equally embarrassing high-pitched scream before (much to his and Mickey’s surprise) he was tackled to the ground by the victim, who then climbed on top of him and began a relentless assault of punches. Meanwhile, Mandy had somehow managed to get the other two boys on the ground, bringing her baton down on their sides as they attempted to protect themselves.

Mickey’s lips pursed as his eyebrows rose in shock and pride. His sister, as sweet as she was, was apparently a tough bitch. The once-victim had climbed off the boy he’d been enacting vengeance on, and Mickey watched as the bully-turned-victim scrambled down the street, abandoning his two friends that were still on the shit end of Mandy’s baton.

After tossing his empty bottle into the dying shrubbery by the front gate, Mickey climbed down the steps, making his way across the street to Mandy, who - despite having obviously won - was still smacking the two boys on the ground at smooth, even-paced intervals as she taunted them.

“Not so fun is it, huh?” She hit the boy on the right.

“Hurts, don’ it?” A clean blow to the shins of the boy on the left.

Below her, the boys were letting out pitiful pleading for her to stop. Mickey noted an asymmetrical stain, slightly darker than the shady grey of what looked to be the jeans of the boy on the lefts pants. Mickey felt a new wave of pride bubbling up once he realized the kid had pissed himself. The boy that Mandy had rescued seemed equally impressed. He stood a bit to the side of her, arms folded, smirking. He was a bony thing, probably around Mandy’s age if height was anything to go by. Now that he was closer Mickey could see his face was covered in what looked to be one large freckle, dark liquid trickling from a gash in his eyebrow, but other than that he seemed in decent shape.

Mickey, finally deciding the two bullies on the ground had been beaten enough, placed a hand on Mandy’s shoulder to grab her attention. She whirled around and as her raised fist collided with his stomach he felt two things: a renewed bubbling sense of pride, cause damn, that was a good punch, and the air whooshing out of his lungs as he keeled over before his face collided with the eight year old knee of Mandy.

Not expecting any of this, Mickeys head snapped back and he stumbled a few steps. His head was ringing and he clenched his eyes shut tightly. He sat back on his haunches, cradling his head, willing the shrill ringing to dissipate or someone to put a bullet in his brain. Mandy was screaming his name, apologizing profusely. He wished she’d give it a rest, the ringing only intensified with her yells. He lifted his head, opening his eyes as he made to tell her this, but when he glanced at her she no longer was the grey, black and white person she was when he’d closed them. She was vibrant.

This was wrong, something was really fucking wrong. He took in his surroundings, everything was bright, too bright. The scrawny boy knelt in front of him, and Mickey found he couldn’t look away. His face was bathed in sunlight, he seemed almost to be glowing.

Mickey was right about the freckles, the kids face was covered in them, more than Mickey could even think to count. He could tell the boy was saying something, could see his lips moving, but all he heard was the sharp unrelenting ringing in his ears. Finally, he took note of the boys hair. Mickey was mesmerized, he’d never seen anything like it, and he had the urge to touch it. He wanted nothing more than to never take his eyes off it. Every strand seemed to bounce light off of it like a kaleidoscope. He wasn’t sure what color they’d call it, but he quickly decided it was his favorite.

With a blink, it was gone. The high pitched squeal behind his ears had dissipated and with it, so did the color of the world, everything faded back to its monotone gray, black and white. He was left only with a violent throbbing behind his eyes.

“Dude?” the boy crouched in front of him asked “Can you hear me?” The boy looked at Mandy who appeared close to tears.

“I think we should call an ambulance.”

“No, no cops.” Mickey finally managed to groan out. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, and it took a level of concentration to speak that made the throbbing intensify.

At his voice Mandy sank to her knees in front of him, her face streaked with tears.

“Mickey, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it!” her words poured our rapid fire.

“’m fine.” He managed to slur out. Bracing his hand on Mandy’s shoulder he pushed up to his feet, ignoring the wooziness that washed over him with the act. Gaining his bearings he noted that the boys on the ground were gone. Run off when he went down, he noted.

He was gonna throw up, or pass out, or die. Either way, he wanted to do it in the comfort of his own air conditioned living room.

“C’mon.” He muttered before turning back towards the house and unsteadily making his way back inside. Mandy would follow eventually.

“Uh, thanks.” He heard the quiet voice of the boy say behind him, before the quick pat of Mandys footsteps followed him up the stairs.

The sharp dichotomy between the warm spring heat and the cool air-conditioned living room made Mickeys stomach turn. He stumbled to the restroom and wretched lunch into the toilet. Silently he thanked Mandy for cleaning the bathroom the week before, otherwise this puke session would have been a lot shittier.

Mandy came into the bathroom and handed him a glass of water that he swished and spit into the toilet. He leaned back against the wall and waited for the throbbing behind his eyes to fade. It wasn’t his first knock to the head, probably wouldn’t be his last. If he sat perfectly still for a bit it’d go away. Mandy offered him an aspirin which he quickly swallowed.

His sister crawled onto the floor next to him and nestled herself under his arm.

“I’m really sorry,” She mumbled after a while.

“Not your fault” Mickey assured “Proud of you, that’s a mean ass jab you got.”

“So… is it safe to say you got beat up by a eight year old girl?”

“Aye!” he snapped, raising an arm like he was going to hit her. The movement caused a sharp pain behind his left eye to blossom. He grimaced as Mandy giggled.

“Ain’t scared of you anymore.” She joked. “Happy Birthday.” She added quietly after a moment of silence.

“Thanks.” The throbbing had faded, and was almost imperceptible now.

“Who was that kid, anyways?” Mickey asked.

Mandy played with a thread on the pleated skirt of her school uniform.

“Dunno. Seen him around.”

Mickey furrowed his brow.

“So you jumped in a fight for a kid you ain’t even know?”

“Mhm.” She answered.

“The fuck for?”

“He looked like he needed help.” She responded simply.

Mickey wasn’t sure what to say to that. Was it stupid for her to get involved in some random’s shit? Definitely. But Mickey was also about to do the same. Mickey was also an adult and not an elementary aged girl, but still. Getting involved in other people’s shit never went well, or maybe he was just jaded. He wasn’t sure anymore. Mandy was still so good and he was terrified of diminishing her light with his skeptical darkness. Preserving a child’s innocence in the Southside was a full-time job of mental handwringing. She’d done a good thing, he’d leave it at that today, right now he just wanted a beer to soothe his raw throat. His headache had leveled off to a more manageable level since he’d thrown up and his stomach growled loudly protesting its emptiness. Time to get this birthday shit out of the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a flashback, then a flashback in that flashback... so let me know if it's hard to follow and I'll try to make it more clear.  
> Feel free to point out any mistakes you see... 
> 
> Enjoy!

For her age, Mandy knew her way around a kitchen. She’d mastered a simple grilled cheese sandwich by age five, scrambled eggs with cheese by age six, and finally, by age seven, mac and cheese. Needless to say, no one in the Milkovich household was lactose intolerant. Mickey often grumbled internally about the astronomical proportion of their grocery budget that went to cheese, especially since Mandy wouldn’t eat regular American Cheese, it had to be cheddar, which was twice as expensive. Still, it was a small cost to give Mandy some semblance of a normal childhood, so Mickey paid for it. He bitched, but kept the fridge stocked.

Mandy had been working on her latest culinary achievement, cheesy rice, for Mickeys birthdays dinner; he would have been happy with leftovers but she’d been insisting for weeks that twenty was a “special” birthday. Originally, she’d wanted him to go out with friends but once Mickey reminded her that she was, in fact, his only friend she just a quickly switched gears and settled on dinner and homemade birthday cake. End of discussion.

She’d make the sides, cheesy rice and broccoli while Mickey would make the main, baked chicken. Then together they would spend the evening baking and frosting the dessert, before throwing on a movie that Mickey got to pick for once.

He dumped the cake mix into the glass mixing bowl, Mandy stood next to him on the wooden kitchen stool that elevated her to waist height by the kitchen counter, still about a head shorter than Mickey still. She picked up the box and read it diligently, as if she were going to be quizzed, before hopping down and grabbing eggs and the gallon of milk from the fridge.  
Mickey for his part, set about grabbing the things his little sister couldn’t reach: the oil in the cabinet above the stove, the little hand mixer they kept above the fridge, and finally a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips. The recipe didn’t call for them, but he figured a bit more sweetness never hurt.

He and Mandy danced around one another collecting items and mixing the cake with well-rehearsed grace and ease, never once colliding in the tiny space. She cracked the eggs, he poured the milk from the jug that was still a bit too heavy for her to tip without spilling. He mixed the batter as she carefully added a splash of canola oil, and then a generous helping of chocolate chips.

By the end they had a respectable looking cake batter. Mickey held out the mixing attachment for his sister to take a lick. As she leaned forward, tongue out and eyes closed, he changed course at the last second, smearing batter over the side of her face instead.  
He meant to run after, but instead began cackling at the appall on Mandys face. Mandy sneered as she wiped the batter off her face and smacked Mickey with her batter covered hand and they were off. Mandys giggles and shrieks bounced along the room along with Mickeys roaring laugh as they flung bits of sticky batter and hid behind plates and pots in the kitchen.

A ceasefire was begrudgingly called after Mickey took a chocolate chip to the eye that made his eye well and water up.

“Got beaten up by a girl and made to cry by one all in one day, huh Mouse?” she asked cheekily.

“I’m ‘bout to hit a girl if you don’t shut it.” He snarked.

Mandy laughed as she turned the faucet on. Mickey rinsed his eye out under the water to rid it of some of the stickiness, before turning it off, and taking stock of the room. The kitchen was a mess; the cabinents and floor were splattered with batter. He checked the bowl, there seemed to be enough for a cupcake, maybe two if they were small.

“Birthday cupcakes?” She asked, reading his mind.

“Fuckin’ looks like it” he agreed.

He licked a bit of batter from his lips before dumping the sad amount of remaining cake mix into a cupcake tin. Placing it into the oven, he instructed Mandy to get her sticky butt into the shower before getting to work on the mess.

A parent at twenty was not where he would have said he’d saw himself when he was young. But then again, no one had even known his mother was pregnant, including herself, until about thirty minutes before Mandy came shrilly screaming into the world.

* * *

 

**_8 years earlier…._ **

 

While his Pa drowned his evenings off in drink and bar brawls after work, his mother’s solitary comfort was food. Mickey could scare picture his Ma, Macie, without seeing her laid on the couch, mouth chewing on some convenience store snack.

Her water broke one weekday afternoon as Mickey made himself a sandwich after his walk home from the local middle school. Ham and peanut butter, his favorite. He’d just taken his first bite when his Ma’s voice called out his name frantically. Dropping his afternoon snack, he raced to the living room to find her standing behind the couch, bag of nacho cheese Doritos in hand, a puddle of water soaking her feet.

He almost made a joke about her pissing herself but swallowed the comment when he saw the look on her face. It was a look he only saw as she ushered him into closet when his Pa came home in a drunken rage. Terror. She fixed her wild eyes on him.

“Go next door and get Hattie,” she said, voice stern “Now!”, before doubling over, gripping the back of the couch, a long low-pitched wail flowing from her lips.

In an instant Mickey was out the back door, hopping over the fence that separated his family’s backyard from the Websters. Letting himself in through the back door he ran smack into Hattie Webster in the door.  
“Child!” she hollered as Mickey grabbed her hands to steady her.

“My Ma!” He gasped out, “She needs you!” Mickey thought he should quit smoking with the boys afterschool, if his stamina were anything to go by.

Hattie took a long look at Mickey and shelved any reprimand or question she was about to throw his way.

“Lemme grab my bag.” She settled on.

Back at the house, the duo found his Ma in the bed she shared with Pa. She laid on her side, violently gripping a pillow in her hand. Mickey thought she looked like a mountain, his ma had never been petit, except in old photos, but he also couldn’t remember when she’d gotten so large.

“Baby, I think I’m – fuck,” she howled, her plump face coated in a sheen of sweat.

Hattie rushed to her side, and gently rolled his Ma onto her back. Pressing her hand down on the groaning woman’s stomach, she felt around for a few seconds, then lifter his Ma’s house dress and felt between her legs. Mickey averted his eyes, that wasn’t something he particularly wanted to see. He only looked back when Hattie, in what seemed to be a deliberately calm voice, called out to him.

He saw Hattie’s thin fingers coated in a dark liquid, the same shade of the stuff that oozed out of his knee when he was ten after falling off his bike. Or when he busted his lip climbing trees with friends last summer. Blood. His mom had told him it was red. She like to do that, tell him the colors of things he couldn’t yet see. Said he was a product of color, the world became more beautiful the day he was created.

“Mickey!” Hattie snapped the fingers of her clean hand. He met her eyes.

“Go on and call the police. Tell ‘em your Ma is in labor and bleeding” she instructed. “Then call around and see if you can get in touch with your Pa, tell he needs to get to the hospital now!”

Mickey stared at her. Labor? His Ma was having a baby?

“Now!” Hatties voice shocked him into action like a whip as his Ma’s lip quivered, she hadn’t looked at her son once since he came back with Hattie, her eyes were shut, as she breathed out little moans with each exhale. After a moment, Mickeys brain caught up with his legs that were moving him towards the phone on the kitchen wall.

Afterwards, he didn’t remember calling the cops, nor did he remember calling the auto shop where his dad worked on transmissions and brakes six days a week. He practically lived there, toiling endlessly to afford the mortgage on the home he’d bought that, while out of his price range, was the apple of his then, and apparently now, pregnant wife’s eye.

He was gonna be a big brother, Mickey realized leaning against the kitchen wall. His kindergarten year he’d been obsessed with the idea of being a big brother, pestering his parents at every turn on the subject. All the kids at school had at least one sibling back then, except him. He learned quickly not to ask why he couldn’t have a sibling after the fifth time he posed the question during family dinner led to his Pa flinging his plate at the wall behind the boys head. Mickey yelped as the ceramic dish brushed the short hairs on his head, before shattering as it made impact with the wall, smearing the surface with his Ma’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

“That’s the last time you will bring that up. You hear me?” Pa spoke between clenched teeth, his nostrils flared and the veins in his neck throbbed as he stared his small son down. His Ma looked on in wide eyed silence. Mickey nodded as his eyes filled up with tears, he wouldn’t cry, his Pa hated it when he cried. Big boys didn’t cry. He looked down at his plate instead as his Pa’s chair scraped then clattered to the ground before he heard the front door open then slam violently shut. He and Ma finished their meals in silence, despite his newfound lack of appetite.

That night, like most, his Ma tucked him in. After placing a kiss on his forehead, she leaned in close to his ear. She had a secret she said, she’d tell him why he couldn’t have a baby brother or sister, but only if he promised not to tell Pa. Mickey, snug in his ninja turtles pajamas, nodded vigorously. Ma lightly kissed his cheek before whispering in his ear a ton of words they definitely hadn’t gone over yet in his kindergarten class.

As he lay in bed that night in the quiet blinding darkness of his room, he tried to make sense of what ovarian cancer was. Or why his Ma could die if she had a baby. Sleep embraced him, warm and inviting as his blanket before he even noticed.

Honestly, after that night, he hadn’t really thought about his Ma’s moonlit confession, or obtaining a sibling. A litter of mewling kittens were found under the jungle gym at recess the next day and, unsurprisingly, Mickeys obsession with babies was quickly dethroned by the unfathomably soft, furry creatures. He was after all, a six-year-old boy.

Knowing things is weird. Knowing things, you don’t even know you know is particularly disconcerting. Mickeys brain was less an organized memory journal, and more a poorly organized over stuffed collection of file cabinets, with every piece of information he’d gained in his short life stored haphazardly.

As the paramedics burst through the front door, rapidly wheeling a stretcher towards the room emitting the pained groans; two long forgotten files cross-referenced to form one frightening revelation. His Ma’s whispered secret and the scattered bits of female anatomy he’d managed to retain from sex ed last year; his Ma was having a baby after having uterine and ovarian cancer. He didn’t need to be a doctor or even a grown up to know that this wasn’t just and unexpected surprise, but a potentially deadly emergency. He ran to his Ma’s room but was stopped by Hattie. Frantically he tried to step around her but she blocked his path.

“I wanna see my Ma!”

“You can’t go in there, Mickey”

“I gotta see her!” He could hear his own desperation.

“Not now, you gotta let the paramedics work.”

He went to get around her once again, briefly considering decking her to get her out of the way when his Ma was rolled out of the room on the stretcher. Ducking around Hattie he ran up to her as she was wheeled to the door. She continued to let out low groans as she was wheeled. Every inch of skin Mickey could see, was now drenched in sweat. His Ma grabbed his hand as he walked with the bed.

“Everything’s okay, Mickey.” She assured him. His vision blurred as his eyes filled with tears. He tried to speak but his throat seized around the words, instead, he nodded.

“You gotta stay here okay, in case your Pa comes home.” The stretcher stopped at the door as the paramedics looked on impatiently. Fuck them, Mickey held his Ma’s hand tighter.

“Gotta let go baby, they’re gonna take care of me.” His Ma smiled up at him reassuringly before another spasm of pain caused her body to tense up, and she let out another wail. The boy shook his head, he didn’t want to let go. Anything could happen the moment she left his sight. He wanted to see for himself everything was going to be okay; that his Ma would be back on the couch tomorrow.

Hattie came behind him and gently pried his hand from his Ma’s. As the cold air his hit palm, Mickey sucked in a shuddering breath. He watched from the doorway as the paramedics carried his Ma down the stairs, Hattie right behind them. His lip quivered when his Ma yelped as she was loaded into the ambulance.

Hattie paused at the open bay doors, regarding the boy sadly.

“Cook Memorial is where they’re taking her, alright?” Mickey sniffled and gave a short nod. Hattie climbed in the back of the truck before it sped off, sirens blaring.

Mickey stood in the door for a while, waiting. He wasn’t sure what for, but eventually the sky turned dark and he went back into the house. His sandwich from earlier sat on the kitchen table; the bread was stale and hard from sitting out but still, he ate it. Focused on the chewing, rather his Ma. He sat at the kitchen table, staring at his empty plate before making his way to his room, crawling under the covers with his school clothes on and falling asleep. When he was awoken hours later to the sounds of glass shattering, accompanied by his Pa’s anguished screams he knew everything wasn’t going to be okay. He didn’t cry.

* * *

 

**_Present day…_ **

The oven dinged as Mandy reentered the room, wet hair pulled back from her face in a bun.

“Wanna ice them?” he asked.

“Duh.” If she had this much attitude now, Mickey wasn’t looking forward to her teenaged years. He removed the two cupcakes from the oven and placed them on a plate. He still was covered in cake batter, Mandy reminded him as she shooed her big brother into the shower.

Mickey didn’t often let himself think of his Ma, the wound of her death was still too raw. The only time his mind strayed to her was during his alone time in the shower. Thus, he limited his time in the tub to the time it took to wash the essentials. Hair, pits, balls and ass. Done.

Mandy greeted him in the kitchen with two cupcakes housing two lit candles.

“Don’t you fucking – “he managed to get out before Mandy broke into an off key rendition of the birthday song. He suffered through it with smirk.

“You gotta make a wish!” She said chided when he went to blow out the candles. Mickey rolled his eyes, before playing along and closing them, making a wish, and blowing out the candles.

“Now can we please watch some damn Segal?”

“Anything you want, Birthday Mouse.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week! 
> 
> Please comments and lemme know what you think... they make me happy. 
> 
> Again, let me know if you see any mistakes, I go over an proof read throughout the week so I usually catch them all but it still helps :)

Life at the recycling plant was just as Mickey liked it; predictable and uneventful. Every day he clocked in at 7 am, put his lunch in the break room refrigerator then made his way to his spot on the line. His job was simple, easy enough to not stress him out, but stimulating enough to keep his mind from wandering to all the things he should be doing better, but wasn’t.

 

Hours passed as he sorted recyclables from common trash, one right after the other. Glass in the bin to his left. Plastics on the right. Paper was Julie’s job, the middle-aged mother that stood opposite from him. He liked Julie, she, like him wanted to sort her trash, and go home. She wasn’t interested in chatter, or making friends, only in the steady paycheck the plant provided them. This was fine with him; his last partner was obsessed with mindless chatter.

 

Garrett would drone on for hours about his degree in business he was working on, or his elderly mom, or worst of all, his failed relationships. It drove Mickey endlessly insane, until one day he finally snapped and flattened the pricks tires after work one day, to match the broken windshield he’d smashed in with a stray brick. Garrett quit after that, and Mickey was finally blessed with a silent partner.

 

Lunch was at noon. A simple peanut butter and ham sandwich with Pringles, and if he felt like splurging, a snickers bar from the vending machine. He ate quickly, seated on the curb in the parking lot, followed by a few cigarettes while he played candy crush on his iPhone. He’d gotten one for him and Mandy from a local crack head after they’d fallen off a truck for a price that was practically free. He couldn’t resist the allure of fucking over The Man with the purchase of the illicit goods, plus, he felt better knowing Mandy could reach him at all times and vice versa.

 

After lunch, it was another four hours of sorting and piling before he could clock out and trudge his weary bones home.

 

This was his life; he had no opinion of it generally. He could work reasonable hours, keep food on the table, and not possibly loose a hand at the meat packing plant. He couldn’t complain. Mickey wasn’t naïve, landing a job like this without a diploma was a miracle and though he was a fuck up, he couldn’t fuck this up, for Mandy’s sake.

 

The time neared the end of his shift when Rob clasped a meaty hand on Mickeys shoulder. Mickey felt rage bubble in his gut, before he just as swiftly tamped it back down. He hated when Rob grabbed him; the casual aggressive touch reminded him too much of Terry, set off alarm bells in his head that screamed ‘Danger! Danger!’  The instinct to respond with a quick fist to the face of whoever owned the hand was quick, but Mickeys practicality was quicker. He clenched his fist at his side and turned to face the heavyset man, his eyebrows lifted in question.

 

“Jamie called in sick.” Rob said, looking Mickey over in a way that made him roll his eyes. He was colorblind, not blind.

 

“The fucks that got to do with me?” He asked impatiently, Rob grew a lascivious smirk. If Mickeys eyes rolled any harder they would have popped out and rolled away from what was quickly becoming an annoying conversation. Mickey cursed himself for fucking Rob to get the job, it was worth it, for sure, but some days he didn’t want to deal with Robs constant bedroom eyes. Actually, not some days, every day.

 

“Need you to stay on, work the lift.”

 

“Ain’t got a lift license rob. You know that.”

 

“Do you see OSHA here?” Rob looked around exaggeratedly.  “Me either”.

Mickey wasn’t amused. His feet hurt and he wanted to get home to watch another episode of Cutthroat Kitchen, in other words, he really didn’t have time for this.  Rob could tell Mickey wasn’t won over, and played his trump card.

 

“Plus, you’d get paid Jamie’s salary, plus overtime for the hours you cover for him.” He added casually. Mickey was sold.

 

“Well fuck, why didn’t you start with that?”

 

“Wanted to see if you’d do it out of the kindness of your heart, first, obviously.”

 

“Fat fucking chance.”

 

Rob wasn’t all bad, he looked out for Mickey, made sure his hours were never cut, always came to him for extra shifts. When Mandy had the flu last month he gave Mickey the week off to take care of her, paid, without docking his sick days. It all had the ulterior motive of getting into Mickeys pants, he knew, but he also wasn’t one to discount a good thing just cause it wasn’t backed by saintly intentions.

 

“Lemme call Mandy and let her know not to wait up for me.” Mickey told him before unceremoniously turning his back to his lust filled boss.

 

Mandy took the news distractedly, usually she’d whine a bit before eventually acquiescing to the inevitability of Mickey not making it home for dinner. Mickey reminded her of the leftovers in the fridge before she quite obviously, and rudely rushed her caretaker off the phone. Mickey scratched at his nose with his thumb as he stared at the black phone screen. Mandy’s attitude was growing worse by the day, but that wasn’t something he could worry about now; There was money to be made.

 

Trudging through the front door hours later, Mickey expected to find Mandy curled up on the couch, dead asleep. What he found instead was his eight-year-old sister sat on the floor next to the scrawny kid who was getting his ass kicked yesterday. Or, at least he looked to be the same kid from mickeys vantage of the back of the boys’ head. They were seemingly enthralled in an intense game of Mario cart, judging from the way neither kid noticed Mickey enter the house, and he never was known for moving in silence.

 

Mandy, playing as princess peach - because, of course- was in a first place, with the skinny kid as Toad hot on her ass. Princess Peach, protecting her lead tossed a succession of banana peels in her wake that Toad skidded sound with ease. Mickey watched the competition from behind the couch, they still hadn’t noticed them yet. He debated on how best to announce his presence. He could be nice and go with a simple “hey I’m home” but, he felt there was a lesson to be learned here; not only did Mandy leave the front door unlocked, she wasn’t even paying attention to her surroundings enough to notice someone had come in.

 

Her carelessness terrified him, he was inundated with flashes of masked intruders strolling in through the front door to find a distracted defenseless Mandy; so in turn, being nice was off the table.

 

Princess Peach spun out in a daze as she ran clear into an exploding turtle shell thrown by Toad.

 

“You fucking jerk!” Mandy screamed at the screen

 

“Language!” Mickey yelled. Both kids let out a startled yelp, the scrawny kid grabbed Mandy and tucked her behind him, almost instinctually before both children turn to face the loud mouthed intruder. Mandy exhaled audibly when her brain finally worked past blind panic, allowing her to note that it was just her dick of a big brother. She jumped up and over the back of the couch, and punched him in the arm, hard.

 

“You friggen scared me!” She exclaimed.

 

“You should be scared, you left the damn door unlocked!” He shouted at her. “I coulda’ been anyone! The fuck was you thinkin’? Huh?”

 

“Quit shouting! It was an accident!”

 

“Don’t tell me not to shout, you coulda’ been killed.” Mickey was fuming, He’d just started leaving Mandy home alone in the past few months, when Ms. Hattie finally moved away and couldn’t watch her in the evenings anymore. He’d imparted in her the safety of keeping the door locked, at all times, no matter what. Never to answer it for anyone, especially once it got dark. She’d promised to be careful, and usually she was, but all it took was once, he reasoned.

 

“Maybe I was wrong, maybe you aren’t old enough to be home by yourself yet.”

 

“You’re overreacting!” She insisted, her eyes were already wet. She always did have a thing for the waterworks, not that they ever worked on him. “I wouldn’t even have to worry about the door if you came home on time!” Mandy was full on yelling now and Mickey drove clear past angry to furious.

 

“Yeah, well fuck me for working to feed your ungrateful ass huh?” he asked with a sneer, “I guess I’ll just go back to working at the Kash N Grab, and you can go back to wearing thrift store rags, so I can be here to babysit your irresponsible ass right?” He watched as Mandy’s lip began to quiver, he was going too far, but once he got started, his mouth just wouldn’t quit.

 

“Or, better yet, how about I go and see if dad can get out on early release, and you can live with him? He can stay home with you all you fucking want.”

 

“Hey, quit shouting at her!” Mickey whirled around to find the boy on the floor now standing opposite of him in front of the couch. He raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’m sorry, who the fuck are you again, and why are you in my house?”

 

“I’m Ian. You shouldn’t yell at her, it was an accident.”

 

Mickeys eyebrows rose even higher, he should have let those kids beat his ass the other day for a bit longer.

 

“Ok, first of all _Ian,_ ” He said with calculated coldness “You,” he pointed at the boy, “Don’t tell me, how to do shit in my house. Secondly, again, why are you even here?” Mickey shook his head and held up a hand when Ian began to talk.

 

“Actually, I don’t even give a shit, get out.” He settled on.

 

“Mickey!” Mandy yelled next to him. He fixed her with a hard stare, daring her to say something. He heard Ian sigh.

 

 

“Mandy?” The boy asked, Mickeys eyes widened, this kid.

 

“It’s fine,” She said with a sniffle, “I’ll see you around.”

 

“Yeah, okay. Night.” Mickey watched him leave, then walked over and locked the door with exaggerated movements, keeping eye contact with Mandy the entire time. He watched her nostrils flare, and her face morph into a sneer.

 

“I hate you.” She spat at him before running into the room they share, and slamming the door.

 

“Yeah, me too.” he mumbled to himself in the silence. She was angry, but not angry enough to not sleep in their room he noted. Now, by himself, the tidal wave of anger had receded and he was left only with the realization that he probably could have handled that a bit better. Maybe not bring Terry into it. Maybe not have embarrassed her in front of her friend.

 

He thought back to himself at eight years old, back then, his biggest worry was avoiding pissing off Terry. Now he just worried that he was becoming as bad as Terry, cruel and vicious, and he didn’t know how to stop it. He turned off the game and sat on the couch in the darkness, he could clearly hear Mandy sniffling in the other room. He couldn’t go in there yet, he’d have to apologize, sure, but the damage was already done. Would she start to tiptoe around him the way they both did with Terry? Maybe Mickey was wrong, he couldn’t do this, he wasn’t good enough to raise a kid without being a dick to them. It was selfish of him not to let the state take her all those years ago; she deserved so much better than this.

 

She was still young, some uppity white Northside family could still want to adopt her, but he’d have to act now, he couldn’t wait any longer, while she was still little and cute. All it would take is one anonymous call to CPS and…

 

He stood up abruptly, he couldn’t let himself ride that train of thought to the station. Creeping into the bedroom he shared with his sister, as not to startle her, he repeated his mantra: Mandy was family, the only family he had left, and she’d stay with him. That was final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mickey, parenting thing is hard! 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think.


	4. Chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am 100% sure there are typo's in this chapter, I've tried to proofread but am so tired I'm sure I missed a good bit of things. I'm always re-reading my chapters though so I'll try to edit thoughout the day tomorrow. Feel free to make my life easier and point out any mistakes/plot lapses you see.
> 
> Also, feel free just to let me know what you think! (I'm talking to you that leave kudos and no reviews)! :)

 

Mandy didn’t stir when he entered the room. They both knew she was awake, but for now, they’d both pretend she wasn’t. Mickey fumbled through his dresser in the dark, grabbing a pair of pajamas before just as quietly exiting the room, leaving the door open a crack behind him and heading to the shower.

 

He washed quickly, refusing to entertain anymore thoughts of sending Mandy away, or of his own inadequacies in the realm of raising her. Honestly, he was exhausted mentally and physically. He’d worked a total of twelve hours at the plant today, and after his blow up with Mandy, he didn’t possess the energy to shit on himself anymore for the night.

 

He rested his head against the cool tile of the shower, allowing himself the small luxury of the hot water cascading down his back. Briefly he considered jerking off, before deciding that too, required more effort than he had left in his bones. It’d been months since he gotten laid, right around the time he got the job at the plant which was just a quick fuck bent over Robs desk that ended in an unsatisfying ache in his ass, and gainful employment. 

 

He hadn’t had sex that wasn’t transactional in... he couldn’t even remember. He’d been fucking for favors for so long he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be touched only cause he wanted to be. Not to keep the lights on, or get grocery money but simply to feel another human and be felt by one. Idly, as he toweled down, he wondered when he’d become gay enough to want such things. A fuck was a fuck, no matter the reason. He’d do good to remember that.

 

He changed into his pj’s and silently reentered the bedroom. Mandy was still awake, she filled the room with quiet grumbles and snores when she slept, now the only sound that filled the room was the low hum from the ceiling fan. He got under the covers of their queen bed, the one that his Ma and Terry used to share and stared at the ceiling. He considered just ignoring the issue, but Mandy could hold a grudge; it was easier to get it over with now than let the hurt fester.

 

“I’m sorry” he said quietly. Mandy didn’t move.

 

“I said I’m sorry, I was too harsh.” He said a bit louder. Still nothing.

 

“Quit being a brat. I shouldn’t have bought Terry into it alright? It was a dick thing to say.” he huffed out.

 

Finally, the covers on Mandy’s side of the bed began to ruffle as she scooted closer to him. Eventually she laid her tiny head on his chest.

 

“I don’t hate you.” Her voice was quiet, raw from crying and her face left dampness on his chest.

 

“I know.” He responded after a while. He placed his hand on her head, stroking her soft hair. They fell asleep like this most nights, Mandy listening to his heartbeat, curled around him. He didn’t mind it, they both slept better knowing the other was near. They’d tried sleeping separately after Terry got locked up - it was pointless, Mandy would always find her way back to their queen-sized bed in the middle of the night.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In one day, Pa gained a daughter, and lost a soulmate. He tried with Mandy, a valiant effort he gave, but in the end, Pa was a working man; the child rearing was all Ma’s domain. Three days after his mother was carted away in an ambulance, Mickey came home to find Pa sitting at the kitchen table. On the table, was a baby carrier that his Pa rocked back and forth with his index finger, while he stared into the carrier. He didn’t acknowledge his sons’ presence until Mickey came behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

 

His Pa seemed to come back to himself at the touch, and looked at Mickey.

 

He cleared his throat before saying, “This here,” he nodded towards the baby carrier, “is your sister. Amanda.”

 

Mickey peered into the carrier down at the wrinkly newborn, instantly he was inundated with a wave of apathy, bordering on revulsion. This tiny thing was what killed his Ma. Much like the hunting knife his Pa had gifted him one year, she didn’t look like much, but she was deadly. Amanda cooed, Mickey looked away.

 

“I, uh, named her,” His Pa’s voice became thick again, and he paused, scrubbing his hands over his face, before shaking his head, as if he could shake the overwhelming emotion so simply. “I named her after your Ma, you know, her middle name was Amanda.”

 

His Pa looked at the little girl in the carrier again, giving her his little finger, which she grasped onto tightly.

 

“She’s strong,” he continued, a watery grin on his face, “Got a set of lungs on her too, your Ma said…” He trailed off, and covered his face. His body shook violently with repressed sobs; Mickey looked away, he didn’t know what to do when Pa cried, until this point he didn’t know Pa could cry. His Pa was strong, tough, a man, and now he looked infinitely smaller curled over the dining room table. Mickey didn’t know how to reconcile the version of his Pa he knew with the tear streaked man in front of him. He hated this, this wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

 

His Ma was supposed to be on the couch watching her soaps, greeting him when he walked through the door. His Pa was supposed to come home from work oil streaked and mush his hair a bit, before heading to the fridge for a cold beer. Thursdays were the night his Ma made whatever he wanted for dinner, and now she wasn’t ever making him anything again and it was all that stupid, ugly baby’s fault.

 

His apathy swiftly morphed into rage. He hated that baby, Amanda. She ruined everything. He didn’t have a Ma anymore and it was all her fault. Without a word, he turned on his heel and ran out the front door. He hit the street and kept running, he ran until his lungs hurt, past the school, past his Ma’s old job at the hair salon, past anything he recognized. Finally, when the burn in his knees became unbearable, he stopped, bending over and sucking in a long shuddering breath. His exhale was more of a wailing sob, the bone crushing exhale of a boy without a mother.  Like his Pa, he shook his head rapidly from side to side, with every blink he saw his Ma on the stretcher being wheeled away, loaded into a truck, and disappearing forever.

 

Mickey wouldn’t cry, he refused. Amanda wouldn’t make him behave like a boy, she wouldn’t break him down like she had his Pa. After a while, he got his breathing under control and took stock of his surroundings. There were a pair of homeless men sitting around a fire, peering at him with vague curiosity, as if he were a harmless bug that’d crawled on them. Their stares reignited his rage.

 

“The fuck are you looking at? Got a fucking eye problem? Cause I can fix it up real quick for ya’.” He yelled bringing himself back up to full height, trying his best to mimic the look he’d seen his Pa give unfortunate men before they ended up broken and bloodied.

 

“Aye’ calm down there Cub Scout.” One of the men with scraggly long blond hair shouted back. “Kids these days got no respect, I tell you.” He said to his partner. “My little one, Fiona, is always shouting at me, telling me what I ‘oughta be doing and how I need to get a job and yada yada yada. Don’t even appreciate that it’s ‘cause of me they even got a roof over their entitled heads!”

 

The man lifted himself from his crossed legged position on the ground to stagger closer to Mickey, who raised an eyebrow. He got right up in Mickeys face, leaning over him, forcing Mickey to tilt his head back to look him in the eye.

 

“I tell you what kid,” he slurred, his breath reeked of booze, Mickey’s nose crinkled as the putrid scent wafted into his nostrils. “You’re gonna learn some respect, or ‘imma put you over my knee, and teach you some. Then, I’ll go to your house, put your Mama over my knee and teach her some too. Bet she’ll like it.” He poked a bony finger into Mickeys chest hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. Mickey recovered, braced his leg back, and swung a fist with all the force he could muster making impact with the vagrants’ cheek, he heard a satisfying crunch, before the drunk hit the freezing ground.

 

Instantly, Mickey was on him, landing fist after fist to his face until he was pulled backwards. Through his rage, he heard himself screaming curses at the man, damning him to hell, he didn’t know shit, he didn’t have the right to say shit about his Ma, the stupid smelly ugly asshole. He was flung into the dirt, he guessed by the drunk man’s friend. His hands were coated in something, the same shade as the liquid that covered Ms. Hattie’s hand the day the baby killed his Ma. It was dripping from the battered man’s face, and leaked down his cheek to the dirt where he laid wheezing out gurgling breaths.

 

Mickey felt himself grin at the carnage. It felt good to destroy, to hurt. The man turned over on his side, and hacked out a disgusting lump of thick liquid.

 

“You’ll watch your fucking mouth next time.” He spat out before jumping to his feet, and running back towards home.

 

* * *

 

 

Sleep overtook Mandy within seconds of her unspoken forgiveness. For a moment, Mickey considered waking her up, drawing her into a game of late night Mario Kart, or to make a midnight snack, anything so he wouldn’t be alone in the dark with his own thoughts to keep him company. That idea was quickly shelved, she had school in the morning, and he, another long shift at the plant. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and opened one of the many dating apps he had installed on it, but never used.

 

He did this every few months, opened grindr and flipped through a few dozen profiles, for a while he’d let himself imagine that one of these guys would find him hot, would want him. His profile picture was a selfie Mandy had whined for him to take after forcing him to chaperone the school field trip to the zoo. It was free, she begged, and they never got to do fun stuff together. Her last weapon was a pair of wide hopeful eyes looking up at him, and a day later he found himself being the lone adult responsible for a group of four seven year olds. Her favorite animal was the Koala, as it was also Mickeys nickname for her, an homage to the way she slept- clinging onto him every night no matter how far to the edge of the bed he scooted away from her tiny snoring form.

 

When they reached the enclosure, she’d whipped out her kinda, but not really, stolen iphone, and cajoled Mickey into crouching down and smiling for a selfie with her and two of the tiny bears that were snugly wrapped around one another for their afternoon nap.

 

“See! It’s us!” She excitedly said of the animals, before pressing a kiss to his cheek, smiling into the lens and snapping a picture.

 

It was his favorite picture of them, and the only picture he had of himself, so as a necessity, it became his profile picture on the site. As such, he didn’t get many men swiping right, and the ones who did weren’t his type. He chastised himself at times for being so choosy, but if he was going to fuck for free, it’d damn well was going to be with someone who was nice to look at.

 

The irony of being a gold star gay raising a kid, wasn't lost on Mickey. He just never let himself think about it til nights like these with Mandy asleep next to him, her breathing deep and even. Of course he had a soulmate, everyone did, but they also could choose to stay and Mickey knew his other half would opt out. Out of early parenthood, out of this shitty house, and most especially, opt out of a life with a piece of Southside trash that didn't even finish high school for a partner. Sometimes, Mickey let himself feel it, the ache in his chest that bloomed when he thought of a life alone. But then the sun would rise, and he'd tuck all that gay shit away because it was time to get Mandy ready for school. She was all that mattered, if he could get her through school and out of this shithole city, everything would be worth it.

 

Tonight, the sun couldn’t come fast enough. Tomorrow was taking too long for his liking, as was this year, as was every year that marked the countdown to Mandys graduation.

 

He checked his alarm, Mandy had a habit of disabling it in the mornings; perhaps on purpose in an attempt to sneak in some more sleep or even a day off from school if they slept too late, or perhaps she did it in a haze of sleepiness. He wasn’t sure but he wouldn’t put the former past her; either way, usually she was the one to wake them in the mornings. Mickey was a hard sleeper, except for when it came to her, they’d learned over the years that a while a blaring alarm or even a blow horn wouldn’t wake him, his sister calling out to him in the softest of whispers would always do the trick. He figured some distant Neanderthal part of his brain was attuned to his charges every need. However, she couldn’t wake him up, if she wasn’t conscious herself; to counteract the seven year olds sleep antics, he got up and placed the phone on the dresser closest to the door, making one of them have to physically get out of bed to shut it off.

 

He grabbed Mandy’s phone from under her pillow to set an alarm on hers as well, the more the better he figured. Unlocking the phone, he saw she had a text. He briefly considered if it was considered an invasion of privacy if he paid the phone bill, then decided she was a kid, she had no privacy, before unlocking the phone and scrolling to her messages.

 

From: Ian G

Ur bro is a dick.

 

This _kid._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know seven year olds probably cant read well, thus can't text. Bear with me here alright lol


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit different, it starts off in the past, and the present day is from Mandys perspective. I probably won't write from her perspective often but she's so adorable I couldn't resist.
> 
> Anyways, this is the last chapter of set up for current day Mickey and Mandy, next chapter will probably feature a bit of a time hop in which Ian will be a main feature going forward. 
> 
> Also, I wrote a good chunk of this...uh... not sober.. so feel free to point out any mistakes/inconsistencies you find as always. Sober Mia has a bit of a hard time editing fucked up Mia's work.

The crisp leaves of Autumn soon after his mother’s death, shed completely off the limbs they hung. He found it fitting, as if the world was mourning his mother in solidarity, or as if by sheer intensity his grief was somehow so powerful it tore free from his chest, infecting the world around him, turning it as cold and lifeless as he felt. He stayed away from home as often as he could since Amanda came home. She made home unbearable; not only did the sight of her infuriate him, she wailed incessantly. The infant had a set of lungs on her which she used without regard to the time of day or night it was. He was sure she never slept, constantly vacillating between shrill high-pitched screams and low wet sounding cries; she was habitually seemingly inconsolable. The only time she shut up was when she had a bottle in her mouth, or in the few brief hours she decided to sleep. Her presence in the house was impossible to be ignored and as such Mickey stayed far away from home for as long as he could each frigid day.

 

He spent his time exploring and further destroying the abandoned high rises that littered the South Side. He took to one set of buildings in particular, four ten story buildings that encased a large open space. He assumed there used to be grass there, lush and always perfectly trimmed, where children used to toss balls around or adults would pull a chair and have a beer, but now it was packed with cold hard dirt and debris. The buildings themselves were gutted, completely devoid of any internal structure, all that was left was the bare concrete skeleton. They were quite the eye sore, the walls were covered in graffiti, the floors a mosaic of shattered glass from every alcohol imaginable. It had long been abandoned by even the vagrants- too shabby for their tastes, which was perfect for Mickey.

 

It was his land in all aspects except the legal ones. No one bothered attempting to climb the rickety rotted wood steps; any space off the first floor he was practically guaranteed to be alone. He took solace in the silence. It was just quiet enough that he could close his eyes and it’d feel like home used to, there were no screaming infants only the distant wail of scattered police sirens- the lullaby of his childhood. Often, he would climb to the roof of one of the buildings, wait for the sun to set and watch for shooting stars. He’d sit, legs dangling over the edge, neck craned back so far it cramped some nights, gazing into the nights sky for a glimpse of that streak of light. Eventually, the freezing wind would become too mighty for his winter coat to ward off forcing him to begrudgingly leave his birds eye view of the evenings sky, in favor of the warmth that radiated from the furnace back home.

 

The furnace was the only provider of warmth for months now. His Pa barely spoke to him, and when he did, it only ever concerned Amanda. ‘Go get her bottle warmed up’, or, ‘grab me a fresh diaper for her”, his least favorite was when he’d scream for Mickey to “SHUT THAT BRAT UP ALREADY!”. That was when he’d have to take care of Amanda himself, a task he abhorred like no other. It didn’t happen much at first, but over the months his Pa seemed to begin shedding the layers of patience he’d carried for the girl as steadily as the hours passed. When he first brought her home he never let Amanda leave his sight. She’d lie in the baby carrier that sat on a chair napping next to the table while Pa ate or he’d bounce her mindlessly on his chest while he watched UFC fights on the couch. Her crib was set up directly next to his bed when he slept allowing him to jump from his sleep the second she made the tiniest of cries.

 

The attention his Pa lavished on Amanda left little to pour into the grieving boy. He faded into the background of what was left of his own family and most days, he was fine with that, preoccupied with his own exploration of the city and stars. He’d never been much of a daddy’s boy anyways, yet still the obvious affection his Pa held for his little sister only stoked the flames of his intense hatred.

 

As the weeks passed after his Ma was put in the ground, his Pa seemed turn to colder towards Amanda. He’d let her cry for longer intervals at a time, eventually ignoring her all together - her wails filling the small home for hours until she succumbed to sleep. Ms. Hattie looked after Amanda during the day time, changing her schedule as a nurse to allow her to remain home until about an hour after his Pa got home from work. At first, he’d would go straight to Ms. Hattie’s after his shift, collecting his daughter before coming home. Now, he’d leave her there as long as possible, slamming back beers on the couch until Ms. Hattie, unable to wait any longer, would bring the girl to him.

 

She took pity on his Pa, on the days in which his pa screamed at him to take care of Amanda coincided with Ms. Hattie’s evenings off Mickey would put the girl in her car seat and carry her around the block to Ms. Hattie’s front door, the carrier bumping along his stumpy legs with every step. Amanda was tiny but dense, his arms would ache from the added weight further souring his mood. The only bright spot was Ms. Hattie. She’d open the door greeting Mickey with a warm smile and take Amanda from him. Often, she’d encourage him to come in as well, get a bite to eat, ‘you’re getting too skinny’ she’d chide. Some days Mickey would simply roll his eyes and walk away, others, he’d follow Ms. Hattie in, sit down on the couch that was covered in plastic that clung to his skin no matter the temperature, and let her dote on the siblings.

 

His Pa, she told him one evening over plates of chili and cornbread, was losing his colors. Amanda lay on a blanket spread over the couch napping, something she only did for the middle-aged nurse.

 

“Your parents were soulmates Mickey.” She said as she broke off a piece of bread, “When one dies, it’s worse than a normal loss. The colors start to fade away.”

 

She frowned, her face was contorted with sorrow so honest Mickey had to look away.

 

“He’s falling apart, ain’t nothing nobody can do to stop it. Only thing we can do is help him.” She put her spoon down and took Mickeys hand, the touch was meant to be comforting but it only made his sadness intensify. It reminded him of all the affection he’d been missing since Amanda was born.

 

“Family, is all we’ve got most times, and sometimes, not even that.” She paused as if considering her next words, “I know you don’t care for your sister,” she cut him off when Mickey made to protest the assessment, “but at the end of the day, she’s still just that. Your sister. So you gotta look after her, learn to love her. You need her as bad as she needs you even if you don’t see it. You three need to stick together or you’ll all fall apart.”

 

Mickey didn’t move his eyes away from his bowl of chili while she spoke. He knew Ms. Hattie meant well but he would never learn to love Amanda. How could he when everything would have been okay had it not been for her?

 

“It’s what your mama woulda’ wanted.” He felt the words like a stinging slap to the face and snatched his hand away. He looked Ms. Hattie in the eye for a split second before scoffing and leaving without a word.

 

__

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

 

Annoyance, was Mandys primary emotion before her eyes even opened. The alarm chimed and vibrated atop the wooden dresser, creating a cacophony of sound jarring enough to pull her from her dreams of flying through the open air causing her to crash land into reality with a startling abruptness. She pulled the cover over her head, unfortunately this did little to quiet the noise that was determined to rouse her from her comfortable, warm bed. With an aggravated exhale, she flung the covers back and cracked her eyes, scanning the room for the source of her irritation. The phone lay on the other side of the room, she frowned and glanced at her brother who didn’t appear the slightest bit disturbed as he slept on his stomach with his mouth wide open towards her, a bit of drool leaking out the corner of his lips.

 

She rolled her eyes, this had to be all his doing. Ever since she’d shut the alarm off just that once when it was tucked beneath their pillows, Mickey put the phones as far away from them as possible. They weren’t even that late, but as usual Mickey had over reacted, as if the world were going to end cause he was five minutes late to work. The room was bright, the blinding white light of the morning sun saturated the space, and it was becoming uncomfortably warmer with each passing second. Fine, she decided letting out another angry huff, she’d get out of bed.

 

Throwing the covers off, she climbed out of bed and shut off the alarm. Behind her, Mickey hadn’t stirred in the slightest. It was strange he usually began squirming around a bit, slowly coming out of his sleep the moment she left the bed. Must be nice, she thought bitterly.

 

It would be a fair assessment to define Mandy as without a doubt not a morning person. She loved school, excelled in it for the most part, her only complaint was that it started too early. When she was older, she decided as she padded barefoot to the kitchen, she would become the principal and make school start at a more respectable hour. And while she was at it, extend recess by a half hour, or maybe even a whole hour.

 

She pressed start on the coffee pot that her brother had prepared the night before then, as was their routine, retrieved the box of poptarts from the cabinet, toasted them, and ate her breakfast as the coffee brewed. Soon the room was filled with the comforting smell of fresh coffee. She wished Mickey would allow her to have a cup but no matter how much she begged, he never relented. He’d pat her head and tell her she couldn’t have even the tiniest sip as coffee stunted your growth and he’d hate for her to turn out like him.

 

She’d asked Ian about it as they played Mario cart the night before. He said it was bullshit and she believed him. He was the same age as her but way smarter about adult things. He said his dad was a drunk and his mom was crazy and never home, so he and his siblings had to basically raise themselves. So, even though he was her age, he practically was an adult, and thus Mandy trusted his judgement.

 

“But, why would Mickey lie to me?” she asked.

 

“Dunno, adults are weird, they lie about all types of stuff.” He said with a shrug, never taking his eyes off the screen, “My dad lies all the time. The other day he told us he was going to the store to pick up orange juice and didn’t come back for three whole days! And guess what!”

 

He cut his eyes to Mandy who took in the story with wide unbelieving eyes, she couldn’t imagine Mickey leaving her alone for more than a few hours while he worked. The idea of being alone for that long terrified her.

 

“What?”

 

“He didn’t even have any Orange Juice when he came back!” Ian laughed as if he’d told the world’s funniest joke. Mandy chuckled nervously, she didn’t get the punchline.

 

“But, where was he?” She asked timidly.

 

“Dunno. He does that sometimes.”

 

“Really?” She paused the game and turned to him.

 

“Yup.” He replied, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it with a ‘pop’ on the P. “It’s cool though, I like it better when he isn’t there.”

 

“How come?” she inquired.

 

“He doesn’t like me too much for some reason, always screaming and yelling, pushing me around and stuff. It’s better when he’s gone.” Mandy knew the feeling all too well.

 

“Yeah, my dad too.” It was the first time she it admitted aloud - the only people who knew about Terry were Mickey and Ms. Hattie. The duo was silent for a beat as they looked at one another, two children world weary beyond their years.

 

“Dad’s suck.” Ian surmised, turning his attention back to the television, playfully bumping shoulders with his video game adversary.

 

“You’re telling me.” She said with a giggle, bumping him back. With that the conversation was over. Nothing else needed to be said, they both got it and knew it wasn’t something the other wanted to get into.

 

 

The coffee pot beeped as the last drips of coffee emptied into the pot. Mandy shoved the last of the pop tart in her mouth before grabbing a mug from the cabinet and filling it with coffee. She set the full mug on the table, finally feeling awake, and made her way back to the room. Mickey hadn’t shifted since she left. She paused in the doorway for a few seconds then took off in a sprint, launching herself onto his back.

 

“Jesus!” Mickey exclaimed.

 

“Good Morning Mouse!” she said in a sing song voice, far too chipper for this time of morning. “The sun is shining, it’s time to get up!”

 

Mickey let out a prolonged groan but didn’t make any indication of removing himself from the bed. Mandy, little shit that she was, lifted herself to a sitting position on his back and began bouncing.

 

“Get! Up! Get! Up! Get! Up!” she punctuated each word with a bounce, holding onto her shoulders as if he were the bull and her, a professional cowgirl. Abruptly Mickey turned, flipping the giddy girl onto her back. Before she could let out a yelp of surprise he began tickling her, she squealed and yelped as she tried to get away. She would have no such luck, her brother had her pinned securely between his legs. He was relentless, recapturing her lithe body each time she squirmed out of his grasp.

 

“I’m.. gonna!” She squeaked out, “I’m gonna pee!” It wouldn’t be the first time. Mickey was a merciless tickler, it was his own acceptable form of vengeance against the mischievous adolescent.

 

“Shoulda thought of that before!” He replied, his hair was flung in each direction from sleep, but his face held a sinister grin. For a few seconds his torturous assault continued, before he unceremoniously jumped off the bed, for his morning cup of coffee. Mandy let out an exhale of relief before herself, jumping out of the bed and running to the bathroom.

 

Their mornings were generally wrapped in a haze of sleepy silence. Mandy, after waking Mickey would take the bathroom first. Brushing her teeth and hair in the mirror then putting on the uniform skirt and shirt mandated for school. While she dressed, Mickey chugged his coffee then did the same in the bedroom- putting on the full body coveralls provided by the plant that bore his name embroidered just over the left breast pocket.  

 

After, they’d swap. Mandy would take the room to put on her socks and shoes, while Mickey brushed his teeth in the bathroom. He didn’t often bother to do much to his hair aside from brush it in a manner that didn’t seem as if he’d just rolled out of bed; he had no one to impress.

 

Finally, they’d meet in the kitchen where inevitably they’d argue about lunch.

 

“I don’t want a sandwich!” Mandy insisted. She wanted the can of tuna in the pantry to go along with some crackers.

 

“Nah, ain’t gonna have Ms. Trumball calling me cause the lunchroom stinks like fish.” Mickey countered as he continued making two ham sandwiches, one for each of them.

 

“Who cares if it stinks?” Mandy asked with her arms crossed. “Anwar brings in smelly curry all the time and no one says anything.”

 

“Yeah, well Anwar ain’t you and you ain’t taking fish to school.” He packed the sandwiches in a ziplock bag, ignoring Mandy’s pout. “Trumball already got it out for me-”

 

“Cause you punched her husband!”

 

“He deserved it.”

 

Mandy groaned dramatically. Mickey ignored her and finished packing both of their lunches, along with chips for him and a fruit cup for her in their respective lunch boxes. Lastly, he filled his thermos with the leftover coffee that sat warmed in the pot, screwing the lid on tightly- hot coffee on his crotch mid train ride was a mistake he’d make once, and never again.

 

Without looking back, he grabbed both lunches along with Mandy’s backpack on the way to the door. She was being a brat but she’d follow. Shoving his wallet in his back pocket he let Mandy out the door in front, and locked both locks behind him. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye seemingly considering if she was upset enough to part ways for her walk to school without giving her customary hug and kiss on the cheek to her brother. She wasn’t. They stopped on the sidewalk outside the gate, the point where she’d go left and Mickey, right. She turned and opened her arms expectantly and was lifted into the air and spun around, her smile was hidden securely in the crook of Mickeys neck.

 

Lightly Mickey set her back on her feet and crouched down to her level.

 

“You be good, okay.” She instructed him before placing a kiss on his cheek.

 

“No promises.”

 

He ruffled her hair, and Mandy ducked from under his hand before with a wide smile, turning away to begin her walk to school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me and 7 year old Mandy immensely happy. Leave us one?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is all angst, no fluff, so be warned. 
> 
> As usual, feel free to point out any mistakes you see, and leave comments :)

Coming home to Ian and Mandy playing video games became a regular occurrence without Mickey even noticing. At first the boy would stay over for dinner every once in a while, then every few days, until finally his presence in the house was so expected that it gave Mickey pause to come home one evening and find Mandy alone.

 

He didn’t place what was off right away- too preoccupied as he kicked off his shoes and light fall jacket, then kissing his sister on the top of the head before grabbing a cold water from the fridge. He cracked it open and drank half the bottle in one go. Checking the freezer, he wondered what he was going to make Mandy and her newfound best friend for dinner tonight.

 

Finally, it clicked.

 

“Where’s your shithead friend?” He asked abruptly.

 

“Who? Ian?” His sister absentmindedly responded.

 

“No, Casper the friendly fucking ghost. Yes Ian!” Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

It was clear Ian was at best, not fond of Mickey and at worst actively disliked him; he didn’t talk much to Mickey, saving all his words and little jokes for Mandy. At dinner Ian and Mandy stayed in their own world of immature inside jokes and pop culture references that Mickey was too old to get. If he cared a bit more he might have felt left out, maybe a bit envious of his the high regard his sister held her new friend in. But he was too busy to worry about trivial things like that, instead, he was mostly relieved that Mandy had found a friend she could relate to. It couldn’t be good that, before Ian, her only friend outside of school came in the form of her twenty-year-old brother.

 

“Whadya’ mean you don’t know? Thought you two were attached at the hip.”

 

Mandy shrugged and didn’t answer. Dinner for two it was.

 

Ian didn’t show up the next evening either. He did however show up after the sun had set on the third day, strolling into the living room unannounced; the siblings sat on the couch both engrossed in another episode of Cutthroat Kitchen. Any annoyance Mickey had at the boy for just barging in was quickly washed away when Ian plopped down in between the pair on the couch, his right arm cradled to his chest in a thick cast. The left side of his face was covered in a dark shadow of a bruise that made Mickey wince. Mandy immediately hopped up and began doting on the broken boy.

 

“Are you okay? What happened? Does it hurt?” She shot her questions off in rapid fire, grabbing Ian under his chin and tilting the bruised side of his face towards her.  Mickey lifted his sister up by the waist and tossed her on the couch.

 

“Give him some breathing space will ya?”  He leaned over to inspect the bruises himself. Mandy was undeterred and bounced back up, bumping her brother out of the way with her hip.

 

“I’m fine.” Ian swatted her hand away, “I fell down the stairs at home, it looks worse than it is.”

 

“You fell down the stairs.” She repeated, her skepticism was obvious from her raised brows as she looked at him.

 

“Yeah, wasn’t paying attention.”

 

“And broke your arm?” Mickey asked with a single raised eyebrow. The siblings in that moment could have been twins –albeit ones separated by a decade- wearing identical expressions with arms crossed on their chest, both faces screamed ‘bullshit’. 

 

“Yeah,” he shrugged his one good arm.  “Had to go to the hospital and get it reset. Should have seen it, my elbow was flopping all round. It was sick.” Ian told the story with huge smile flopping his good arm like dead weight, the mental image made Mickey grimace. The duo continued staring Ian down, the intensity made him ramble nervously. “It was my fault really, I went to get water without turning on the light, Carl had left some toy or something on the stairs and I just ate it.”

 

“Yeah, okay clumsy feet.” Neither sibling was buying it, that much was obvious. It was possible, sure, but more likely Ian was pushed by his dick of a dad. It wasn’t the first time he’d shown up at the Milkovich house sporting some assortment of bruises and as usual he blamed it on his own clumsiness. Neither were fooled; they knew the signs, hell, they’d lived the signs at one point until Terry got put away.

 

The situation made Mickey angry, made him want to take a quick walk to the Gallagher house and see how much Frank liked taking a tumble down the stairs, and much much worse. But he couldn’t, his days of kicking ass had passed the moment he’d committed himself to take care of Mandy. She needed him out and working, not locked behind bars for beating the shit out of the drunk shit that liked to bully his son, no matter how deserving the ass kicking would be. Mickey couldn’t lie and say he was fond of Ian, but Ian was just a kid and didn’t deserve the hell that always seemed to greet him in the Gallagher house.

 

It was a shit situation; all Mickey could do for the boy was offer him a place to hang out after school and have dinner without the threat of bumping into Frank.

 

 

He hadn’t even known Frank was Ian’s father until the drunk came banging down his front door one day looking for his son. He swung the door open with the Glock he kept in the entryway in hand; anyone banging on his door like that had to have had a death wish, of which Mickey was overjoyed to grant. He wasn’t sure who he’d expected on the other side, but it definitely wasn’t the drunk he pummeled mercilessly however many years back. His face was the same, just a bit more aged and worn, the lines of his face dropped and sagged creating pockets of skin that reminded Mickey more of a sad bloodhound than a man. The drunk still smelled the same, Mickeys nose noted and turned up instinctively, the putrid vapors of unwashed man mixed with spirits was a smell he knew all too well from Terrys drunken benders and it set his teeth on edge. That smell was always accompanied by chaos or pain and instantly put him even more on alert.

 

“The fuck you want?” He asked. The man still had a fist raised to pound on the door, his eyes were downcast, taking forever to make the journey from the ground to Mickeys face which probably showcased the annoyance that teetered precariously on rage, simmering under the surface.  The drunk man smiled as he lifted his stooping shoulders.

 

“Oh, hello.” He said far too brightly, “I’m lookin’ for my son, Ian, you seen him around? He said he comes here sometimes, hangs out with some girl uh,” he paused searching for the word, snapping his fingers a few times. “Melissa? Michelle maybe?” He swatted his hand in the open air.  “Either way, doesn’t matter. Is he here?”

 

Ian was there, Mickey looked back to see him duck his head below the back of the couch, hiding from view.

 

“Nope, never heard of him.” He made to close the door in the man’s face, mentally he was done with this conversation the moment he opened the door. With speed unbecoming someone with his level of inebriation, the foul-smelling man shoved his foot in the door before it could slam in his face, his hand pushed the door back almost hitting Mickey in the face, who ducked back an inch before the door collided with his nose.

 

“Uh, see it’s just, I’m his dad.” He tried again, his voice still sickly sweet.

 

“Yeah, I fucking got that, and he’s about to be an orphan if you don’t let go of my fuckin door.” Mickey rubbed at his nose with the knuckle of the hand holding the weapon in irritation and dropped the gun on the entry table before he became too tempted to pistol whip the fucker. The drunk, smartly backed up and raised his arms in deference allowing Mickey to loudly slam the door in his face.

 

“Well, if you see him,” he shouted through the door all traces of the previous warmth his voice held gone, “tell him he’s gonna have to come home eventually!” That caused Mickey to raise an eyebrow. The fuck? He looked back at the couch to see the faces of Ian and Mandy peeking over the back of the couch at him. Mandy looked confused, Ian embarrassed. He sauntered back to the couch stopping in front of the pair.

 

“Thanks” the boy said meekly. Mickey was sure if he could see colors, Ian’s face would be red with blush like his Ma said he’d used to get whenever he was embarrassed.

 

“Don’t worry about it.” He said simply, and mushed Ian’s head, it seemed to be one of the few gestures of affection he could show that didn’t make him feel like a pussy. “I see why you hide out here all the time if you got that fuckface at home.”

 

“He’s not that bad.” Ian defended automatically. Mickey and Mandy didn’t argue, they knew too well the knee jerk reaction to defend your parent, no matter how vile they truly were.

 

Since then, Mickey didn’t complain about the boy constantly hanging around, driving up their grocery bill. Ian ate like he was in a constant growth spurt, or as if they didn’t feed him at home; both were probably true. The kid was single handedly eating through most of the overtime hours he managed to get from Rob and Mickey wondered what they’d do if he wasn’t always able to pick up a few spare hours. Looking at the battered boy snuggled close with Mandy on the couch, he realized he’d have to figure it out.

 

* * *

 

 

_“It’s what your ma would have wanted.”_

Ms. Hattie’s words rattled around Mickeys head like the set of marbles his parents gave him for Christmas for weeks after. His Ma was dead, he reasoned with himself, she couldn’t want shit. Who was Ms. Hattie to speak for his Ma. She didn’t know shit.

 

Still, despite himself, he found himself trying with the infant. He didn’t like her, still hated her even, but he’d do small things like maybe not serving her bottle of formula to her cold. Or, instead of leaving her to cry, popping her pacifier back in her mouth. He still never held her, but some nights he’d leave her sat in her car seat on the floor while he watched television and idly rock her with his foot.

 

He told himself it was just because he couldn’t stand to hear her screaming for hours on end, that the noise vibrated on every nerve in his body, especially since it’d long grown too cold outside for him to spend any real amount of time at his favorite hide out spot in the abandoned buildings.

 

While the cold forced Mickey to spend more time home, his Pa contrarily spent countless hours away from the residence. Most days he came home and had a few beers in front of the television before Ms. Hattie brought Amanda home, then left Amanda alone with Mickey in favor of spending time at the local bars. At least that was where Mickey assumed he went judging from the way he’d stumble back in hours later the stench of alcohol wafting behind him as he left a trail of clothes from the entry to his bed, where he’d promptly pass out without a word to either of his children.

 

Somehow, his Pa managed to keep the fridge stocked and the lights on, but other than that he was perpetually absent from the home. Even when he was there he scarce said much to Mickey other than “keep an eye on your sister” as he went out the front door. More than once Mickey considered leaving right behind him, not his baby not his problem, but would only make it as far as the front door before either Ms. Hattie’s or even worse, his Ma’s disappointed face would flash in his mind.

 

Mickey craved the freedom spring would bring. When he could go straight from school to his abandoned fortress. His Pa would have no choice but to find someone to deal with Amanda, but until then he was the built-in babysitter, as unfair as it was.

 

The snows piles were over a foot high on the sides of the street, and showed no signs of stopping falling as Mickey walked home one day. He was bundled tightly against the violent wind chill as he trudged home. Everywhere he looked was blindly white, the world looked to be one giant blank slate, ready to be filled with colors he couldn’t yet perceive. The front stoop was topped by a thick pillow of snow, at least a few inches deep and ice dangled from the railings. Idly he hoped as he opened the door, school would be cancelled tomorrow or the onslaught of falling flakes would stop. He would prefer the former as the latter would sentence him to a day stuck in the place he wanted to be the least, home.

 

The house was warm he noted gratefully when he stepped inside, he quickly took off his snow-covered outerwear in the entry and flexed his fingers, feeling the pin prickles of pain as they warmed back up. His Pa was on the couch a half full beer on the coffee table, which, wasn’t in itself strange. Ms. Hattie would have dropped Amanda off a half hour ago, it was Mickey who was delayed by cold walk home.

 

“’m home.” He said to his Pa, which may as well have been to no one really. The grunt he got in response was to be expected. He heard Amanda’s cry, it sounded low and far away and he scanned the room with furrowed brow for her carrier. He didn’t spot it in its spot on the kitchen table, where his Pa sat the infant every day until he arrived home for Mickey to tend to the infant. Mickey frowned, he wasn’t sure why he cared, he didn’t really, but the change in routine gave him pause.

 

Figuring his Pa had put Amanda in his bedroom, he opened the door to find it empty. He could still hear Amanda’s low crying, and checked his Pa’s room. Nothing. Unconsciously, Mickeys heart sped up and a dull panic began to make his palms sweat. He checked the spare bedroom and bathroom, both were empty. He whirled around and scanned the open areas of the house again, Amanda was nowhere in sight but he still could hear her, her cries were quieter now but he’d grown so accustomed to the sound he could still pick it up, barely.

 

“Pa, where’s Amanda?” He asked standing behind the couch. His Pa made no sound, didn’t give the slightest indication he’d heard his son, only picked up his beer and took a long sip.

 

“Pa!” He yelled coming to stand in front of him. Slowly his Pa looked towards him, his eyes blurry and unfocused took a prolonged moment to fix his son in his sights. He cocked his head to the side as if asking ‘the fuck do you want?’.

 

“Where’s. Amanda.” He asked slowly so his drunk father could follow, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. The quiet sense of panic was full blown now. His Pa squinted as if trying to piece together the simple question in his alcohol hazed brain. He waved a dismissive hand at his son.

 

“Gettin’ some air.” He slurred, “Damn screaming was givin’ me a migraine.”

 

“Outside?! It’s fucking snowing!” He yelled, “It’s fucking…snowing..” he mumbled to himself as if understanding the weight of his own words for the first time. His body reacted on its own, turning him and breaking out in a run towards the back door. Flinging it open he scanned the snow-covered yard, the crying was gone now and some distant part of his brain wished for the first time that Amanda would cry loudly, scream her lungs out. Finally, his eyes landed on the car seat on the back-patio table.

 

It was surrounded by hills of snow on each side, and the seat, the part where Amanda should be being packed with the substance. He raced forward and began digging the snow out of the carrier, the snow was falling heavier making it seem like for every handful he scooped out, another filled the carrier. Eventually he made contact with the baby, with both hands he reached in and pulled her from underneath the thicket. She was covered in snow, her tears and snot had frozen to ice on her face. Amanda was still, not making a sound and Mickeys heart froze in his chest. He pulled the girl to his chest and ran into the house with her.

 

His Pa hadn’t moved from his perch on the couch, but Mickey had no time to be furious at him. He took Amanda into the bathroom with him and stripped her down, his body moving on auto pilot. Later if asked, he wouldn’t be able to say how he knew skin to skin contact was what Amanda needed, how he know not to put her in warm water lest her body temperature rise too quickly and send her tiny cold body into shock, he just did. Stripping off his shirt he cradled the front of Amanda’s body to his bare chest. He wet a towel with warm water and placed it on her back.

 

“Please. Please. Please.” He chanted over and over. “Cry Amanda. Cry!” he begged. He rubbed his hands over every inch of her skin, willing the warmth back into it. She was like ice against his chest, and he bounced her against him for added friction.

 

“Please cry.” He whispered as he placed a kiss on her icy hair. “Please.” His voice quivered as he begged. He felt her skin slowly take on the feel of his own, her bare arms and legs began squirming against him. Still he bounced and rubbed the little girl, continuing his pleas for to make a noise, any noise. He’d never scream at her to shut up again, he bargained, never leave her alone with Pa again. He couldn’t lose her too.

 

Finally, he pulled Amanda back away from him, her eyes were wide open and staring at him. In that moment he didn’t see her, he saw eyes exactly the same light shade of gray as his Ma’s peering back at him. He nodded at Amanda as if encouraging her to go ahead, she was fine, she was safe now. Amanda blinked once, then twice, before opening her mouth and emitting her loudest cry yet, and Mickey too, cried.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments will warm little Amanda's cold heart.


	7. Chapter seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be posted days ago but I've been working seven day work weeks on top of having the flu so, like Terry I neglected Mickey and Mandy. Shame on me. 
> 
> Anyways, this feels like a bit of filler to me, but it does answer the question one reader asked of why the pair share a bed... kinda. 
> 
> After this chapter we have a bit of a time hop in the present, to ten year old Ian and Mandy, and twenty two year old Mickey. The past will only feature a time hop of about a year, maybe, I haven't decided. 
> 
> As always, feel free to point out mistakes, and feel super free to leave me comments if you like it.

Autumn embraced the Southside seamlessly. Without the residents noticing, the sweltering heat and flip flops of Summer slowly faded into crisp cool breezes and long-sleeved tee’s; with it brought an occasion of celebration, and one of mourning. Truthfully, Mickey looked forward to Mandy’s birthday – any ill will he felt towards the date had long since been unseated by memories of candles and cake, birthday outings and his sisters smiling face. No amount of love for Mandy could however, diminish the inherent sadness that would burrow and make a home under his skin the next day. 

 

The anniversary of his Ma’s death was a date that he was never prepared for despite almost a decade having passed. It seemed as if his internal clock were in sync with the occasion and the morning of he’d awaken flooded with memories of the mother he’d lost too soon. Some were sweet like his remembrance of the time when he was ten and his Ma drove him to the Navy Pier; she brought two tickets to the Ferris Wheel, one for each of them. Mickey didn’t want to get on, the structure was too tall, the idea of placing his body in one of the swinging carts ignited in him a before unknown sense of dread. He was content to keep both his stubby legs on land where he could gorge himself on hot dogs and cotton candy that his Ma didn’t ask him to share. 

 

His Ma wasn’t moved by his hesitance. She told him not to be afraid, that she’d be right there next to him at all times. Reluctantly after much more prodding he acquiesced. His Ma held true to her word; holding his hand in hers they sat side by side on the ride as it lifted them higher and higher into the air. Frightened, he clenched his eyes shut.

 

“Open your eyes Mickey, it’s amazing.” Her voice was filled with wonder. So much so it made his curiosity outweigh his fear. 

 

Slowly, against every survival instinct his little body possessed, he hesitantly peered out. His Ma was right, amazing was the only way to describe the sight. The monotone ocean stretched out on the horizon as far as his eyes could perceive and below them, the boardwalk seemed miles away - the people that filled it nothing more than mere ants scurrying around here and fro. His face broke into a huge grin, and he looked over to see his Ma watching him, her smile a mirror image of his own.

 

That was as far as he’d let himself dive into that memory. It was too painful to relive the joyous moments of his short childhood, all the memories formed were now stained with the loss neither he nor his Ma could have foreseen. 

 

He also was afraid that with each recollection his brain would somehow alter the memories, change small details- filling in things he couldn’t remember with assumptions, or conflate a few into one hodgepodge of a recollection. He’d rather preserve them in their entirety as best he could, for as long as he could, and thus he tried not to let himself stroll too far down any sunny memory lanes.

 

The painful memories were easier, they felt safer to recall. By his own logic, bringing them to the forefront of his mind would make them fade quicker. The deeper he waded into the dark corners of his memory bank the less sharp the blade of his recollection would be. His Ma and Terry fighting over money. His Ma and Terry fighting over how to raise him. His Ma being carried out one day and never coming back. These were the memories he let wash over him each time the anniversary came. 

 

It was his one day a year he allowed himself to actively think of, miss and mourn his Ma without shaming himself for being weak. For not being over it entirely. He always requested the day off, and before he worked, stayed home from school. He’d tried, in the beginning to get up and still be human as if his brain weren’t racked with grief as fresh as ripe turned soil but the efforts were futile. For one day a year, Mickey was useless. Eight years in and he didn’t even chastise himself for it anymore, didn’t waste the mental energy berating himself for being such a pathetic fucking faggot. His self-hatred did nothing, the insults he hurled at himself with precision did nothing to get him out of bed.

 

So, he stopped trying. For one singular day of the year, Mickey allowed himself to simply and completely give up.

 

Mickeys eyes were closed, but he could see the sunlight through them that slipped passed the closed curtains. When he had extra money, he thought, he’d invest in some blackout curtains. A sardonic huff of a laugh escaped his lips, ‘when he had extra money’. Comical.

 

He’d been lying awake in bed for hours; Mandy had long since awoken and left him to his solace, she too knew today was a day he was best left alone. It could have been hours he lay there, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face, unmoving, or maybe not nearly that long at all. Eventually his back ached from keeping the same position for so long, forcing him to turn on his side. That movement alone required long moments of planning, mentally willing himself to make the simple transition from back to side. 

 

Not long after he heard the quiet pat of Mandy’s bare feet on the floor. 

 

“Mouse?” she ventured, her voice was quiet like attempting to soothe a skittish stray cat. Mickey grunted a reply.

 

“I brought you some toast.” He heard her come closer, then the sound of ceramic hitting the nightstand, “It’s here if you want it. And some orange juice.” Then she was gone. The sound of her and Ian giggling in the living room served to abate some of the guilt that was gnawing at his conscious for his annual day of abandonment, but not much.

 

The day creeped on slowly in much of the same fashion. He rotated to his stomach, and she replaced the toast with a sandwich. Then to the other side, after the sandwich was unseated by fresh mac n cheese. None of it he touched, and each time she never complained as she took away a plate of untouched food. After long, night fell and Mandy crawled into bed next to him. She curled up behind him, her bony knees pressed into the small of his back. Abruptly she stuck her cold feet between his legs, giggling when he jumped, and for the first time in twenty four hours Mickey cracked a small smile. He’d get her back for that in the morning. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The high pitched cries of Amanda bounced off the tile and echoed in the small bathroom. Mickeys sobs contrarily were mostly silent low desperate grasps for breath, his ragged inhales were the only evidence of his presence with the infant. He couldn’t tell if he was crying for fear, grief, relief or all of the above. 

 

The fear that gripped his heart at the of prospect warmth failing to keep Amanda’s tiny heart beating held and unrelenting grip on his still after the threat was gone. The feelings of loss for the family he once knew, the only one he knew, was an ever present companion. It constantly lurked just under the surface of his skin, crawling deftly to the surface at every opportunity. And finally, relief. This feeling was new; it was tinged with another foreign emotion: gratefulness. He never troubled himself with musings of a higher power, neither believing or unbelieving but in that moment as his baby sister screamed proof of life in the cramped space, he thanked  Whoever or Whatever gave her another chance; gave him another chance. 

 

Cradling Amanda to his chest he murmured soothing words into the air. 

 

“You’re fine.” He muttered, if he focused on soothing her, maybe he could forget the painful thudding of his heart in his chest, “Everything’s okay.” 

 

His Pa pounded on the door, three hits straight in the center that shook the rickety old wood. Mickey jumped, and Amanda screamed louder. 

 

“Open up! Gotta piss!” 

 

“I’m busy!” he hollered back. Undeterred the banging on the door began again. 

 

“And shut that fucking bitch up!” In that moment, a freezing half naked baby on his chest, Mickey hated his father. His veins filled with a hatred so potent his entire body grew hot with rage that only intensified with each glance at his sisters wet face. 

 

“Now, Boy!” Every inch of him screamed to open the door and hurt every part of his Pa that he could. Gouge his useless eyes out. Kick his worthless balls in. Punch him in the gut so hard that every last breath of air left his worthless cigarette tarnished lungs in a violent wheeze. He could see it in his head, his Pa curled into a ball as he landed a never ending assault of kicks to his body. His mouth watered sourly, he craved the carnage like his did his mothers meatloaf. But, like his mothers meatloaf, he couldn’t have it. 

 

He was young, not suicidal. His Pa was an adult and drunk or no, he’d seen his Pa take down tall burly men with graceless ease. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he’d swat Mickey like a fly; and where would that leave Amanda? Metaphorically, or quite possibly literally, out in the cold. 

 

No. He couldn’t be rash and leave her alone with their father; not while she still couldn’t do anything to protect herself.Mickey nodded his head, muttering “yeah, okay.” At his own logic. 

 

Picking himself up off the floor, he collected his and Amanda’s clothes under his arm; the infant quieter now, but still fussy in his arms. Swinging the door open he found himself toe to toe with his drunk asshole father. 

 

“Bout fucking time.” His Pa slurred as he brushed Mickey out of the way roughly for entrance into the shared restroom. Mickeys nostrils flared, and he forced himself to keep looking straight ahead. His Pa’s incoherent face would set him off if he looked at it again, he was sure of it. 

 

“All yours, _Pa._ ” He said, the sarcasm was sharp as a sword in his tone. He didn’t listen for a response, instead he walked swiftly to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. 

 

Placing Amanda in the middle of his bed, he quietly left the room to retrieve her baby bag. He’d have to get her changed into something warm and feed her. If his Pa couldn’t remember not to put a baby outside in the cold, he damn sure wouldn’t have remembered to feed her. Luckily, the bathroom was still occupied allowing Mickey to gather the items needed to make his sister comfortable without having to see the face he’d grown to abhor in such a short period of time. 

 

Changing a babies diaper was still foreign to him. Amanda, apparently was in no mood to be changed and further drew out to task with her refusal to stay still long enough for him to strap the clean diaper on. He ruined the cheap Velcro on three of them before he finally got it secured. It looked alright. Kinda. 

 

Next, he prepared her bottle. This he could do with absentminded ease, his hands moving on their own to mix the powdered milk with the gallon of baby water Ms. Hattie insisted they used. He didn’t know what was so bad about the water from the tap – he drank it every day and was just fine – but Ms. Hattie was adamant in it being used and provided gallons of it for Amanda. He still thought it was bullshit, but always used it nonetheless. 

 

The milk wasn’t warm, but he refused to risk running into his Pa to put it in the microwave. Cold milk was better than no milk he decided with a frown. He put the bottle in Amanda’s mouth, and propped it up with blankets so he didn’t have to hold it, like he’d seen Ms. Hattie do countless times. Mandy sucked the food down eagerly, her fat cheeks hollowing out with every powerful suck she took. She watched her brother the entire time she drank, her eyes following him around the room as he stripped out of his cold wet clothes and into fresh warm ones before lying in bed next to her. 

 

His eyes were the last thing she saw as she fell into a warm contented sleep, the half full bottle still in her plump mouth.

 

 

 

The switch to Amanda being his ward came all at once and with no protests from their Pa. Ms. Hattie didn’t question why Mickey suddenly began appearing on her doorstep to drop of the infant before dawn, then reappearing before his school officially let out to pick her up. 

 

More often than not on her evenings off he’d come in and enjoy a plate of whatever the Webster’s were having for dinner, prolonging his departure as long as possible. Ms. Hattie didn’t question that either - just quietly let him in and kept the pair fed. Finally when the hour would roll past late he’d collect his sister along with her assortment of things and slowly walk home. 

 

If he were lucky his Pa wouldn’t yet be home, leaving the pair to get ready for bed in peace. Most days, he wasn’t afforded the luxury of solitude; his Pa would come thundering in sloppy drunk and incoherent as he tended to his sister. 

 

Amanda seemingly could sense his presence in the house, growing irritable and fussy the moment he arrived. 

 

These days, she didn’t cry much at all. She’d stare contentedly into space sucking in her pacifier while she laid in Mickeys bed, or giggle happily whenever showed the slightest modicum of attention. Quickly, Mickey found all her ticklish spots and would attack them vigorously as she squealed and gasped laughs. He found himself laughing with her. He’d take delight in her amazement over the tiniest things, like when she realized his house keys made noise when she shook them in her little hands. 

 

She gazed at the keys grasped in her chubby fingers then at Mickey the first time she heard the jingle, before breaking out in a slobbery toothless grin and shaking them vigorously. Surprisingly the cacophony didn’t annoy Mickey, too amused by sheer pleasure such a small thing brought the baby. He lay next to her and watch her move her arm up and down until finally she exhausted herself and fell asleep. 

 

These moments only came to fruition in the hours his Pa was absent. Mickey learned quickly to get Amanda to sleep before his pa could stagger in, otherwise the now usually happy baby would become cantankerous and whiny, refusing to sleep. He wondered if some part of her had learned to associate their Pa with danger. 

 

He didn’t begrudge her intuition, it was quickly becoming apparent that neither of the pair were safe where his Pa were concerned. Mickey had never feared him before, at most he was wary of his Pa before his Ma died, and even now he didn’t have the good sense to be afraid of the rapidly unraveling man. Mostly he was scared for Amanda; he could run if things got too bad but Amanda was by all definitions, defenseless. 

 

This in mind, he never left the baby alone with his Pa under any circumstance. Where he went, she went, aside from the brief few hours she was with Ms. Hattie while he attended school. His paranoia didn’t let up come sleeping hours, he was constantly inundated with nightmares of waking and finding Amanda gone from her crib, or bloodied unmoving on the floor after his Pa would creep in, silent as a shadow and take her. The only peace he found was in putting her to sleep right next to him. He stacked pillows as a makeshift barrier to prevent either her from rolling of the bed or himself from rolling atop her. He slept like this, each night, one hand on her back at all times and finally was granted a dreamless sleep. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to specify when the time is jumping to the past or is the page break enough? I think it's enough but don't want you all to be confused...


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but important.
> 
> We have a time hop of 2 years in the present.

Southside bred and raised, neither sibling knew the chaos and destruction that came with hurricanes; the frigid chill and claustrophobia of blizzards were their stomping grounds and even those were rare. This in mind, it’s easy to understand how both fully underestimated the strength of the chaos that swirled in their front door one afternoon. Hurricane Monica.

That was how Ian referred to his mother and, ignorantly the siblings assumed the moniker wasn’t apt- at best a slight exaggeration of the whims of a absent mother. Like most storms, one always underestimates its power until trapped themselves in the midst.

 

She didn’t knock Mickey noted with annoyance. Walking into people’s homes like they owned the place must have been a trait she’d passed down to Ian. Mickey was used to Ian barging in at all times of the day and night, it’d long since stopped bothering him and at this point, it would have been strange for the boy to knock. The woman standing in his entry, however, was not the small ten-year-old boy who’d made his home a solace from storms that ravaged his own house.

 

“Ian!” The woman called out as she moved into the house as if her presence were as normal as his and Mandy’s. “Ian!”

 

“Aye! Can I fuckin’ help you?” He wasn’t above dragging the stranger out, woman or no – but she knew Ian, so he resolved to ask questions first. There was always time to kick ass later.

 

The woman paused and looked at him quizzically, as if noticing she weren’t alone for the first time. She smiled wide, ecstatic energy seemed to vibrate off her. It made Mickey uncomfortable. Mandy, for her part, scooted a bit further into her corner of the couch. So, he wasn’t the only one getting batshit crazy vibes. Good to know.

 

“Is Ian here?”

 

“Do you fucking see him?”

 

She looked around again as though the boy may apparate out of thin air in front of her. When he didn’t she frowned, but only momentarily before her ear-splitting grin was back.

 

“I’m his Mom.” She made towards Mickey with her had raised for a shake. He instinctually took a step back; the nutty lady wasn’t deterred. “Monica.” She kept her hand in the space between them, waiting for Mickey to take it. He looked down at it- it was shaking, vibrating almost. Raising an eyebrow, he looked back at her.

 

“Ah.” She pulled her hand back and wiped them on her pants. “I’m just looking for him ya know, can’t find him anywhere.”

 

“He. Ain’t. Here.” Maybe if he talked slower the words would penetrate through her skull and she’d get the fuck out.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I see.” She said looking around once more. She sank to her knees and looked under the couch. Mickey shared a look with Mandy, who shrugged. Okay, time for this bitch to go.

 

“Listen, you got about three solid seconds to get the fuck outta my house before I put you out.” He crossed his arms, looking menacing was no longer an act he had to put on anymore. He was menacing. Monica looked at him from the floor before crawling towards the kitchen table. Mickey followed, “Aye! You hear me? He ain’t here!” Monica ignored him as she peeked under the table cloth for the boy. He wasn’t there.

 

“Lady!” Mickey grabbed the back of her shirt, the time for dragging was now. To his surprise she rose with him, and began hitting him. She struck his chest face all the while screaming “DON’T YOU TOUCH ME! WHERE IS IT?! I KNOW IT’S HERE!”

 

“HE’S NOT HERE!” Mickey roared back as he worked to alternatively restrain her wild arms and block the worst of the blows aimed at his face. His attempts were mostly futile, she was quick and agile. No sooner could he pin one hand, then the other would spring free and strike out claw like, at his face.

 

“Get off him!” he heard Mandy scream, he turned to see her leap off the couch, launching herself at his attacker. She landed on Monica’s back, her arms a vice around her throat as she held on. Monica swung wildly, her hits became fiercer now that she had the power of her body behind every blow, an unwanted result of her attempts to fling the ten-year-old off her back.

 

“MOM! WHAT THE FUCK?” A new voice entered the fray, one they all knew. Ian’s. He was standing in the doorway taking in the melee with wide disbelieving eyes. His arrival was distraction enough for Monica to turn her attention away, and Mickey in a moment of untethered rage, reared his fist back; no sooner did she say in a sweet sing song voice “Oh Hi, Honey.”, did Mickey punch her square in the jaw.

 

Mandy landed on her feet as Monica crumpled to the floor.

 

“Mickey, what the fuck?” The boy yelled and rushed to his mother. Monica sat on the floor cradling her jaw, she reached her arms out and embraced her son. Mandy crossed past the duo in quick steps, placing herself just behind her brother. She looked confused and pissed off, but she wasn’t hurt and Mickey breathed out a sigh of relief.

 

Ian and Monica made no show of moving from the floor, the boy was grasping her tightly, and she murmured things into his ear that the siblings couldn’t hear.

 

“Yeah, sorry not sorry to interrupt your snuggle fest, but either of you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?” He snapped.

 

Meekly, Ian looked at them. He seemed to consider something before shaking his head. “Nothing.”

 

“Nothing?” Mandy squealed from behind her brother. “You call this nothing?” She damn near screamed, pointing at the pair on the floor.

 

They ignored her. Monica took her sons face in her hands. “You gotta tell me where it is Ian.” She said, her smile was back, wide bright and blinding. Mickey was having a hard time keeping up with the rollercoaster of emotions in the room. “You’ll tell me right? You’ll tell your Mama?”

 

Ian pulled back as if he’d been burned. “It’s gone. I told you both, it’s gone.”

 

The smack came so quickly it almost gave Mickey whiplash. The room echoed with the sharp slap of palm meeting cheek, and Ian fell backwards with its force. Monica launched herself atop her son before anyone could react. She laid another vicious slap to the pinned boys cheek before the due sprang into action.

 

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE?!” She screamed at her son and Mickey, for his part was over this shit. It was one thing to attack him, a grown man, but Ian was a child. There wasn’t shit he could have done that, in Mickey book, would be deserving of what he was getting. Grabbing Monica under the arms he flung her back from the boy. She yelped in pain as she made contact with the wood flooring.

 

Mandy ran to Ian, who lay motionless on the ground and began checking him over. Mickey spared them only a glance before putting himself in between them and Monica who now lay curled on the floor sobbing.

 

“What did you do?” She sobbed over and over, smacking the floor hard at each refrain. Mickey walked up to her and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to a sitting position and forcing her head back to look at him.

 

“I don’t know what the fuck you do in that hell hole of yours, but we don’t hit kids here.” His voice was scare higher than a whisper as he stared into her wet eyes. “And usually, I don’t hit women, but I’m willing to make an exception to stomp the life out of you.” Monica whimpered.

 

 “So, for your safety I suggest you get. Out. Of. My. House. Now.” With each word, he tightened his grip on her hair, forcing her neck back even further. He felt his hands shake with rage, and he roughly let her go before the urge to keep pulling until her neck snapped became too strong. On the floor, Monica gripped at the base of her skull, attempting to massage to pain away but otherwise didn’t move.

 

“Did I slur my fucking words?” His eyebrows shot to his hairline and he made a move to grab her. She scurried out of his reach and scrambled to her feet. Ian and Mandy were leaning against the couch out of her reach as she walked past.

 

She took a timid glance at Mickey before rushing to the door where she paused. She sniffled, before smiling big at Ian.

 

“I think it’s best you stay here tonight, Frank is real mad at you. I won’t tell him you’re here.” She wiped at her nose, “I’ll come get you when it’s safe, if that’s alright with you.” She directed the request at Mickey. He crossed his arms and nodded a response and at last, Hurricane Monica moved on to ravage greener pastures.

 

* * *

 

At first, Terry not being home was a relief; a welcome reprieve from walking on eggshells in his own home. Wary at first, he still kept him and Amanda to his room for the most part, while the rest of the house stay vacant. After the first week however, he started to stretch his legs - so to speak-  lounging with Amanda in his arms for hours on the couch in front of the television. Or cooking himself up a meal and actually eating it at the table instead of scarfing his meals down in his room.

 

Every bottle he fed his growing sister he warmed to just the right temperature, checking to make sure it wasn’t too hot by splashing some of the milk on his inner wrist – as Ms. Hattie taught him. Amanda, appreciatively sucked each bottle down, and rewarded him for the warmth – in his mind at least- by not throwing up each meal on his sheets and blankets.

 

By the second week he barely went into his room at all except to sleep. He couldn’t shake the sense of security that came with being behind a locked door incase Terry did decide to come home in the middle of the night.

 

Other than freedom of movement, the absence of the patriarch of the home was scarce felt. Probably because even when he was there, he might as well have not been for all the attention he didn’t give his children. Mickey basked in the new privileges that came with his father’s disappearance. Not for a second did he waste energy worrying about the man. Stray cats always came back home in the end.

 

Mickey ate with abandon the first week. By the second, some distant survival instinct made him slow his intake. Terry being gone meant peace, but that peace came at a cost. No Terry meant no fresh groceries. Mandy would be fine; her milk came in the mail once a week from some Government program. Rain, hail, sleet or snow, she would be fed. Mickey, on the other hand, would have no such savior come via post.

 

By the fourth week, he was existing mostly on what food was served at school. At night, he tried to stay at Ms. Hattie’s for dinner, but not too often, lest she grow suspicious. He trusted her wholeheartedly but was wary to tell her of their abandonment. He wasn’t naive, Ms. Hattie wasted to help out but she couldn’t take them in, she’d have no choice but to call child protective services.

 

He’d witnessed more than one of his school mate’s families torn apart by the government bureaucracy, brother and sisters separated to families all over the state. No. That wasn’t an option. Telling Ms. Hattie would be separating him and Mandy, and they were all the other had. He’d have to figure it out himself.

 

Thus, most nights, Mickey went to bed with a grumbling stomach and Amanda’s quiet snores to put him to sleep.

 

One night, Mickey came home to find the lights off. He furrowed his brow, he always left one light on for when he came home after dark, after he busted his shin trying to carry Amanda in with only blinding darkness for a guide. Setting her carrier down in the entry way, her felt for the light switch and flipped it on. Nothing happened. Deciding the bulb must have blown he felt along the wall, guiding himself to the next switch.

 

The house was warm, musty almost; as if it’d been baking in the heat all day. He’d have to open a window to air the place out he thought with a frown before his fingers finally found the living room light switch. He flipped it. Nothing happened. He tired it again. Panic filled realization set in as he desperately flipped the switch over and over, silently willing the lights to come on. He knew they wouldn’t.

 

“Fuck!” he screamed out throwing his fist into the wall. The drywall crumbled around his hand like ash falling from a cigarette. “No. No. No. No. No.” He repeated as he banged his head against the wall. He clenched his eyes shut, telling himself when he opened it, the room would be flooded with light. Sweet, beautiful, wondrous light.

 

Never before had he wanted something so bad, since his Ma died. He admonished himself for taking the miracle of electricity for granted. Reproached himself for not realizing sooner that Terry didn’t just buy food, he paid the bills. No Terry, no power.

 

Amanda began to whimper from her seat, it was time for her bottle. He pulled back and scrubbed his hands over his face. He had to think, he was twelve years old, alone with a baby, in a house with no power, no food, and no idea where his father was. There was no one to bail him out. He’d have to save them, himself.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments turn the hamster wheel that will generate the electricity to power the Milkovich house. Don't leave them in the dark.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, work has been working me 50-60 hour weeks, on top of school. 
> 
> I'm going back to every Sunday if not more often though. 
> 
> For your patience, here is a nice, long one. This one takes place FULLY in the present. Theres only one tiny time hop to a few months back, but I think it's pretty seamless.
> 
> We will deal with the past next chapter. 
> 
> As always, feel free to point out any mistakes you see.

Dinner that night was smothered in a silence thicker than the gravy the trio slathered over their mashed potatoes. In fact, no one had said more than a few words since Monica blew out the front door, leaving Mickey to deal with the disaster she’d created and abandoned in his living room. Ian kept his eyes downcast. Absently, the boy moved the food around on his plate, the sound of his fork scraping against the ceramic periodically emitted a high-pitched scratch that made Mickeys teeth ache. Mickey focused on ignoring it, he knew Ian had more things on his mind than table manners – instead Mickey put his mind on other things. Like the dick appointment he had coming a bit later. He’d grown used to getting laid with regularity since he’d started hooking up with Daniel, to the point where his dick twitched when he thought of the man.

 

Daniel was a surprise, an unexpected break in the routine Mickey had created for he and Mandy; one that came in the form of a tall, muscled man with a sinful smile and mischievous eyes. They’d met at the plant of course, since Mickey hardly ever went anywhere else outside of work, home and the grocery store. Daniel worked in the back office, where anyone who had the good sense to finish school worked; which was fair, no one dreamed of being a trash picker, you just ended up one. They’d been working in the same building for years, without ever noticing each other – Daniel up in Supply Logistics, Mickey on the floor in sorting; or at least, Mickey never noticed him.

 

Things would have stayed that way, the two existing in the same space, separately, forever had it not been for the blizzard that ambushed the city with its stealth and efficiency. The morning commute was brisk but dry, and the forecasts predicted only a light dusting of snow, no more than an inch would fall throughout the day. The reality rolled in just after three, and the city was pounded with a mixture of hail and snow, accompanied by violent winds that shook and rattled the windows of the plant. The power flickered as Mickey worked: once, twice, and the third time, it did not return.

 

Mickey threw his head back and groaned when the back-up generators didn’t kick on after a few seconds. He could barely hear the murmurs and whispers of his co-workers over the howling wind, and shaking plexi-glass windows.

 

“Can I have everybody’s attention?” Robs voice yelled out after a few minutes. Mickey turned towards the sound, Rob stood at the top of the factory stairs, the flashlight he held to illuminate his face accentuated his double chin comically, and it wobbled like a roosters’ gizzards when he spoke.

 

“Looks like the generators aren’t working,”

 

“No shit, Sherlock.” Mickey quipped, the darkness shrouding him.

 

Rob paused and looked into the dark crowd in an asinine attempt to seek out the smart ass, which, the darkened crowd knew was pointless. He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the generators don’t seem to be coming up. We’re gonna have to evacuate the plant.”

 

The crowd reacted in single-minded disdain, shouting their concerns of missed pay at the stout man.

 

“With pay!” he shouted over the developing mutiny. These were the magic words as the protests died down as instantly as they started. “Go home, call the employee hotline in the morning to see if the plant is open.”

 

Mickey had already begun feeling his way to the locker room after he’d heard he wasn’t going to be short pay. Gathering his lunch box from his locker and avoiding injury as best he could, he finally stepped out into the blindingly white blizzard. Employees flowed around him to their respective cars. He allowed himself a second of envy before he turned towards the bus stop that was just outside the plants gates. The bench was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, as was the entire street. He texted Mandy, her school should have let out not too long ago. He recoiled at the idea of her, so short and small, slogging through this much snow on her own. Next to him the plants parking lot emptied out car by car; some of his co-workers waved as they passed him. He didn’t wave back. Instead he focused his sights down the road, bouncing his weight from foot to foot, mentally willing the bus to appear on the horizon, periodically shaking rapidly falling snow from his clothes.

 

The plants lot was empty, sans one car when he finally checked the bus schedule. The bus was due to arrive at three thirty, it was now four. He was sure he didn’t miss it, he’d been there since three- twenty. He scrubbed his tattooed hands down his face with a weary sigh. The last car began backing out of its space and Mickey watched the Lexus Coupe roll out the gate, and turn towards him. The car pulled up to the curb next to him. Mickey raised an eyebrow and watched as the dark window slowly rolled down.

 

“Need a ride?” The driver asked, leaning over the passenger seat. Mickey immediately noted how attractive the man was, and told himself to cut that gay shit out.

 

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” He said shortly, scratching his cold nose with his thumb nail.

 

“You know they cancelled the busses, right?” He didn’t know that, but it seemed like something that would befit his luck with life.

 

“No, I’m just standing here for the fucking scenery, which you’re fucking blocking.”

 

The driver laughed, Mickey didn’t see the joke.

 

“Come on man, it’s damn cold out. Let me take you home.” The man insisted.

 

“I doubt you’re going my way man. Thanks though.” Mickey looked the driver in the eye, displaying his finality; which may have worked had the sky not decided to open up and begin pelting him with hail that fell like rain. Mickey looked up just in time for a piece of ice to land, as though it were targeted, directly in the middle of his forehead.

 

“Fuck!” he yelled as he gripped his face.

 

“Get in the car!” The driver shouted over the roar of the falling ice. Mickey didn’t hesitate before flinging open the door and throwing himself in the front seat.

 

He wiped at his throbbing forehead, out the corner of his eye he noticed the driver grinning at him openly.

 

“We just gonna sit here or are we going?” he snapped. The man chuckled, and turned towards the road.

 

“Where to?”

 

That was January. He was surprised by how easily he and Daniel, the driver, got along. They spent the ride bantering back and forth, Daniel took Mickeys wisecracks in stride and threw back his own. It was a vicious form of foreplay that Mickey wasn’t aware he was engaging in, didn’t realize that he was testing the man to see if he was a thin-skinned bitch. Daniel passed.

 

They arrived at the Milkovich house an hour later than they should have, due to the low visibility of the storm, and by the time they did it was obvious to both of them that there was no way for the other man to make it all the way up to the Northside.

 

They sat in front of the house for a long minute, neither making any reference to the brutal storm despite the clear whistling noise the wind made as it went over the car.

 

“Uh, thanks for the ride man.” Mickey scratched his nose as he looked up at his snow-covered steps.

 

“Yeah, no problem. Can’t have you getting attacked by hail.” He laughed awkwardly.

 

“Do you…” Mickey paused, he wasn’t sure if Daniel was gay, and he definitely didn’t want to repay the guy for being nice by being a faggot and hitting on him. He cleared his throat and tried again “Do you wanna come in?”

 

“Yes.” Daniel answered before Mickey could get to the word ‘in’. He turned back towards the road, probably embarrassed by his eagerness, Mickey figured. But eager didn’t mean gay, Mickey reasoned with himself, and even if he was, he wouldn’t be into Mickey. He probably was just grateful to not have to try and make the trek in this weather.

 

“Yeah, maybe you can wait it out for a bit or something.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Mickey pushed open the car door. He heard Daniels footsteps trailing him as he entered the house. The power was still on, thank God. Mandy was nowhere to be seen, but he heard the shower running and saw her snow covered shoes in the entry. He hadn’t mentioned Mandy, and he was relieved to have a second to do it without her actually being present.

 

“Someone here?” Daniels voice was light, curious, behind him.

 

Mickey began taking off his outerwear, his guest followed suit.

 

“Yeah, my little sister. I take care of her.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but a simple ‘oh’ wasn’t it. He looked back at Daniel who still held that easy grin on his face. Scratching his nose Mickey turned away towards the kitchen, “I got coffee, whiskey and Apple Juice, pick your poison.” He instructed.

 

“Coffee. With whiskey.”

 

“Good man.”

 

The pair were silent as the coffee brewed, eventually Mandy joined them at the table, her wet hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She stared at their guest, expressionless, except for a raised eyebrow. Daniel let out a loud laugh. “You two really are related.”

 

The ice was broken. After introductions, Mickey set out a cup of hot chocolate for Mandy, and two whiskey coffees for him and Daniel. The men listened intently as Mandy recounted the school gossip of the day, Daniel chiming in every so often with a “No way” or a “what a bitch” that dripped sincerity. Mandy was entranced and took to him quickly, challenging him to a game of Mario Cart after her story was finished. Predictably Daniel lost, and demanded a rematch of which Mandy was elated to give. The trio carried on in that fashion the rest of the night, with Mickey refilling coffee and hot chocolate until the time slinked far past Mandy’s bedtime.

 

Expectedly she protested, arguing that there wasn’t even school tomorrow. She even broke out her signature pout, which had long lost its effect on her big brother.

 

“Bed. Now.” Mickey commanded, he had the ‘dad look’ down to a science at this point, and Mandy knew that was her cue to not push any further. With a huff, she stomped to their room and none too lightly, shut the door behind her.

 

“Kids, huh?” Daniel chuckled lightly.

 

“Tell me about it man.”

 

Daniel stood and dusted off his pants. “I guess I should go.”

 

Mickey sensed it was more a question, than a statement and bit his bottom lip in thought. He should go, but Mickey didn’t want him to. He didn’t want to out himself by asking him to stay, and he wasn’t sure it was good idea to even have him stay. The thoughts bounced back and forth in a game of mental ping pong as his guest headed for the door.

 

“You don’t have to.” Mickey didn’t turn around when he said it, “Go, I mean, you can stay, if you want.”

 

“You want me to?” He sounded unsure. “Don’t want to overstay or some shit.”

 

“I said you could.” Mickey wasn’t sure what part of him was speaking, but it damn sure wasn’t his brain that was currently screaming at him to shut the fuck up.

 

“Ok, yeah, I’ll stay then.” Daniel plopped down on the couch next to him, so close their thighs were touching. Mickey stared straight ahead at the paused screen of the game. He could feel Daniels eyes on the side of his face, watching him, studying him. He jumped up.

 

“You want some more coffee?” He asked.

 

“No.” Daniels eyes crinkled in a smile. Mickey sat back down again, further away. Daniel boldly scooted closer. Mickeys eyebrows shot up, and he focused on ignoring the feel of Daniels khaki clad leg pressed against his bare one. He chided himself for being such a pussy, it was obvious Daniel was into him, and now he was frozen on the couch.

 

“Mickey.” He called softly, Mickey turned and found himself eye to eye with the man. Their noses were an inch apart, “I’m really glad you took the ride.” Daniel licked his lips, and Mickey watched his tongue dart out and pull his thick bottom lip in. He’d never wanted anything so badly.

 

“Me too.” _Fuck it_ , he leaned forward and caught Daniels lips in between his own. Daniel responded instantly. Distantly some part of his brain recognized that nothing happened, that Daniel wasn’t his soulmate, but he was glad he wasn’t. He didn’t want to trap some guy in his life. For now, he’d enjoy Daniel while he lasted.

 

“I’m not hungry.” Ian finally spoke, Mickey startled. He was silently grateful that no one could see the impure thoughts he was just having. He hadn’t seen Daniel in a week, and he was already losing it- he admonished himself for thinking about dick right now.

 

“Try and eat a bit more.” Mandy said softly, though, she hadn’t eaten much herself.

 

“Yeah, both of you gotta put something on your stomach.” Mickey added guiltily.

 

“I’m not hungry.” Ian repeated.

 

“You gotta eat kid.”

 

“I don’t gotta do shit! You’re not the boss of me!” He shouted before pushing away from the table. He threw himself on the couch face down and covered his face in his skinny folded arms. Mickey could see his small body shaking from tears. He sighed, and shared a look of helplessness with Mandy. Mickey nodded at his sister, and she too left the table. She kneeled on the floor in front of Ian, rubbing his back in circles she began whispering to him.

 

Mickey was uncomfortable at the display of sadness and comfort. Anger and happiness were the only emotions in his domain, all others were far outside of his range of comfort. He considered trying his hand at soothing the boy, but the idea made his palms sweat. No, Mandy could handle it; chicks were good at the love and tenderness shit. Instead he collected the full plates from the table, scraped them into the trash, and began cleaning the kitchen.

 

Daniel was due by in an hour, after Mandys’ and now, Ian’s bed time. It was easier that way, Mickey didn’t want his sister growing too attached to the man the way Mickey had, despite himself. It was hard not to, Daniel was there almost every night. He saw him at work now every day. Daniel went out of his way to make trips down onto the work floor; something he never did before. Every now and again, he even convinced Mickey to have quickies instead of lunch – not that Mickey needed much convincing. The man had infiltrated every facet of Mickeys life, and thus his brain – he was fucked and he knew it.

 

Eventually, Ians fit subsided, and he – showing a level of emotional maturity Mickey was envious of- apologized for his outburst.

 

“It’s cool, kid. You’ve had a shit day.” Mickey said before flicking a palm full of soapy water at the boy. He never was good at sincere emotional moments. Ian yelped and laughed, but didn’t bite at the chance for a water fight.

 

“You wanna tell me what your mom was going on about?” He asked the boy feigning a casualness.

 

“Not really.” He said steely.

 

“Too bad.” Mickey said as he shut off the water. “I’m in your shit, and I don’t mind being in your shit, but if I’m gonna be in your shit, I need to know what I’m getting into.” He stared the boy down, calm, expectantly. Ian stared back, before he eventually broke.

 

“I took some stuff.” He answered.

 

“What stuff?”

 

“My dads stuff.”

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, “What stuff of your dads?”

 

“Meth. I found it in the dryer when I went to put my clothes in yesterday.”

 

“Was it a lot?” Mickey prodded. The boy shrugged.

 

“What did it look like?”

 

“It was, um,” Ian looked around to find something to measure it by. He grabbed the sandwich bags off the counter and held one up. “It was about, maybe, six of these full.”

 

Mickeys mouth dropped open as his eyebrows shot up; saying that was a lot of meth would be an understatement.

 

“Fucking, fuck.” He said before he could stop himself. When Ian flinched, he took a deep breath to buy his brain some time to reorient itself around this new information.

 

“Where is it?” He made sure his voice was calm, and steady.

 

Ian shuffled from foot to foot, but didn’t answer.

 

“Ian, where is it?”

 

“I flushed it.”

 

Mickey raked his hands down his face. This was bigger than he expected. Frank Gallagher didn’t just have that much meth for fun, either he stole it or someone fronted it to him. Either way, someone was gonna come looking for it and when it wasn’t there… It was a good thing Ian wasn’t home. There were bigger dangers than the wrath of the patriarch imminent at that house.

 

“But, why?” Mickey finally asked.

 

Ian shrugged with his eyes on the broken tiles of the kitchen floor.

 

“Nah don’t gimmie that, you know why. You knew it’d be a shit storm if you took it, so why?” Ian murmured something Mickey couldn’t make out.

 

“Come again?” Mickey had lost any façade of patience; his voice was clipped and sharp.

 

“Everyone would be better off with him dead.”

 

Mickey stared, dumbfounded. Part of him was shocked at the boys’ brutal callous efficiency in which he attempted to do away with his father’s life; but another part of him, the part that was forced to live in a house with Terry for far too many years, who’d had the same exact thought himself, understood. Mostly, he was just ashamed he didn’t have the balls that Ian did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews will fund the hitman that will kill frank. Don't you wanna help kill frank?


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all in the past. 
> 
> Reviews make me smile. 
> 
> Thank you Erika, for yelling at me. (Did I use that comma right?)

His sister wailed ceaselessly and for once, Mickey understood; screaming was the only power she held in her otherwise powerless situation. His head pressed against the cracked drywall that led to the entryway, he too wanted to scream. Scream so long and so loud that his father would hear him and crawl home from the mysterious depths of whatever crack in the earth he’d landed in, just long enough to pay the bills before he was once again sucked into obscurity. Maybe he could scream so shrilly the sound would pierce the conscience of whatever scumbag electrician that’d cut their power, forcing his moral compass to lead him back down the route that’d lead him to restoring the power to the freezing home in the spirit of altruism.

Neither were likely, he knew, so he didn’t scream. He allowed himself a few more seconds of fantastical thinking before he had to deal with reality.

The reality was, there was no power and thus no heat; most importantly money was needed to get the electricity back on. The wind howled a low-pitched reminder of the overwhelming thicket of silence that enveloped the house. Even Mandy’s cries didn’t mask the quiet that was a companion to the darkness; the background noises were all gone - the low hum of the refrigerator, the quiet squeak of the ceiling fan, the slight feedback from the television- each absence a subtle reminder of just how alone he was.

He couldn’t do this, he thought, he was just a kid, he didn’t know how to do this.

Mandy’s face was streaked with salty tears, she’d sweated through her outwear in her rage and Mickey dutifully stripped the damp layers from her. Her vocal disdain petered out as quickly as her temperature dropped. Mickey cradled her warm body to his, rocking her from side to side, whispering empty soothing promises into her thick hair. This, he could do, taking care of his sister had become as natural as taking care of himself – required about as much mental concentration as breathing. He let himself run on a modified autopilot, burying the conscious and terrified part of his brain under thoughts of formula, and vile smelling diapers.

He performed his duties with the rehearsed ease of a parenting impresario – food first, a cold bottle with baby cereal stirred in. Just enough to fill Mandy’s stomach so she wouldn’t wake hungry in the night, but not enough to clog the nipple. She was always more docile after a feeding, and thus didn’t fuss at the modified, cold towel bath she received, instead gurgling happily at the ceiling, grabbing at things only her little eyes could see. He dressed her warmly, in more layers than he normally would. Tonight, there’d be no heat except what they could create themselves under the blanket.

Mandy, for her part, didn’t deter from her routine; quietly falling asleep unprompted after being zipped up in her warm fleece onesie.

Finally, he was alone. He hadn’t eaten since school lunch hours earlier and his stomach grumbled despondently, but he made no effort to move. There was no food in the kitchen. He’d stripped the cupboards bare a week ago and scarfed down the last dusty can of sardines he’d found in a dark cupboard next to the bleach under the sink. It was old and likely expired, he reveled in the satisfaction of a half full stomach for all of a half hour before the meal came back up violently, yet, somehow tasting better than it did when it went down.

He’d eat at school tomorrow. Maybe he could bully some of the kids into giving him their food too. He needed it more than them, he figured, sitting on the cold floor of his room, they had parents and he didn’t.

Abruptly, he jumped up. He’d snagged a snickers bar from the lunch line today, scrambling for his bag he tried to remember if it was today, or yesterday when he’d stole it. Everything blended together lately, and he silently prayed he wasn’t mixing up his days, he wasn’t sure if he could sleep through the sharp pains that pierced his stomach with rhythmic regularity.

Snatching his book bag off the coffee table he shoved his hand in each compartment impetuously. His fingers grasped at nothing but papers and pencils. It had to be there. He knew it was there. In desperation, he overturned the bag and shook its contents onto the wooden table, a flurry of school supplies fell out along with worksheets that floated aimlessly in the air before finding a place on the floor around the table - but no food.

He opened the zippered compartment inside and overturned the bag again. Finally, he heard a crinkled thwack. He paused, bag suspended in midair; he was almost afraid to look, to find out it was just a damn glue stick, or pencil pouch. An agonizing pang in his stomach forced his eyes to check.

He’d always loved snickers bars, but damn, he’d never seen one look so beautiful before. He seized his dinner, and ripped it open. He’d eaten half the bar before his brain caught up with him; he couldn’t remember tasting it, yet knew it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Letting out a satisfied moan, he dropped himself into the closet chair, savoring another sweet, filling bite.

He decided to chew slowly, to savor each bite for as long as humanly possible; damming his school for not selling the king-sized bars. Cheap bastards. He vowed to chew each bite fifty times, until it was a grainy peanut mush coating his tongue. As time consuming as it was, it calmed him, made the meal seem longer and more filling than it was. He busied his hands by neatly arranging and replacing everything back in his bag.

He paused and studied some of the papers before sticking them in folders. Homework he had no intention of doing, letters home that no one would ever read, and another stupid school door to door fundraiser. He scoffed, fuck the school, he needed a fundraiser.

He bit his tongue on chew forty-nine, some distant part of him felt it, but not much. He couldn’t feel anything other than a giddiness at his own ingenuity. He did need a fundraiser, and one had just fallen right into his lap. Breaking into a huge grin, he shoved the last bite of the bar into his mouth, bit his lip and went to bed.

  
To Ms. Hattie, it was day like any other. Mickey showed up on her doorstep bright and early, Mandy bundled up in her car seat by his feet. She took the baby girl in, and kissed Mickey on the head, reminding him to behave at school. Agreeing, Mickey, dressed in the cleanest school uniform he could find turned down Zemansky street on what looked to be his route for school; except today, he doubled back past Ms. Hatties once he was sure she was safely inside, and boarded a train to the Northside.

Fundraising in the Southside was a fool’s endeavor. They were all poor, every dollar went to keeping the kids fed and the house in order, but he knew from experience the same wasn’t to be said of the other side of town. He’d been there a few times, back when his Ma worked as a house cleaner and couldn’t find anyone to keep an eye on him when school was out. He’d ride the train with her until the run-down houses outside the trains windows turned into gleaming high rises and suburban homes with big sprawling yards. He loved these days, usually, he abhorred cleaning but there was something special about the tasks his Ma assigned him when she took him to work.

In each house, his main job was to spray and wipe down each window until it shined, was free of all dust and streaks, it was a job he did with pride. Normally, they worked in homes that could fit three of his houses in the backyard, and for people that never ever spoke to him, but he didn’t care, he was just happy to see his Ma beam at him as she checked over every glass surface, finding them all immaculate.

That was where he was going, those people had enough money to pay people to clean up after them. They’d surely have money to give to a good cause, to help out the poor kids with terminal cancer.

He got off where he used to with his Ma, he figured it wouldn’t do him much good to go somewhere he was completely unfamiliar with, only to get lost have to spend his newly earned cash on a taxi home.

On foot, he passed the high rises – he knew from experience that the residents there were usually a single, childfree career focused lot who were barely ever home and thus, of little use to him. His target were the squeaky clean suburban streets, places that had tire swings in their perfectly maintained back yards and Mercedes SUV’s in the driveways. The moms in these neighborhoods never worked, they’d sit on their asses watching Oprah as he and his Ma cleaned their children’s messes up around them. He had a feeling they’d be more willing to part with a portion of their shopping allowance to support a poor inner cities kid cause if for no other reason than to pontificate on their generosity at their next luxurious dinner party.

His first target was a large two-story home with a long straight driveway that took him over five minutes to span on foot. The door was huge, he had to crane his head all the way back to see the top of it. The brass knocker on was shaped to embody a sprinting cheetah; it screamed wealth – he rapped the door and heard a high-pitched voice filter through the other side.

“Who is it?”

“Kids for Cancer, Ma’am” He shouted back, pitching his voice an octave higher. He was going for a look of impoverished innocence, which was why he combed his hair back this morning, but wore his rattiest, thinnest coat coupled with no gloves. His hands were numbed no matter how many times he flexed them or blew hot air into them.

The door swung open abruptly, a sweet-faced woman wearing a soft looking robe and curlers in her hair looked down on him curiously.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice held a foreign but soothing twang to it and she smiled kindly at him.

For a moment, he felt guilty. She’d barely spoken a word to him, and she didn’t know him, but she didn’t look at him the way the other rich ladies did when he cleaned their houses; like he didn’t exist – or as if he were an annoying fly when he crossed in front of the television. But she was one of them, and ‘I felt bad’ wouldn’t pay the bills.

“Hello, I go to Southridge Middle school and we’re collecting money for one of our fellow students who has terminal leukemia. Would you like to donate to allow him comfort and peace at the end of his short life?” Mickey had rehearsed his speech the entire walk over, so much that it sounded believable even to him.

The kind faced strangers’ eyebrows raised in alarm. “Oh, dear.” She looked genuinely sorrowful in a way that Mickey didn’t understand. “Of course, of course, just let me get my pocketbook.”

She turned in to go in, before stopping; she seemed to survey Mickey for the first time, probably noting his raggedy clothes.

“Would you like to come in darling? It’s awful cold out. Why, I could get you a cup of hot chocolate if you’d like.”

It was Mickeys turn to be alarmed. His discomfort at the gesture was palpable.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you or nothing, darling, it’s just me here. You don’t have to stay for a drink, but I do insist you come in from that cold.” She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, holding the same stern look his Ma used to give. He nodded and followed her in.

The house was quiet sans their footsteps on the glistening floor. Every surface dripped money in a way that gave him butterflies of anticipation. They reached what looked to be a large family room, where she gestured for him to sit on the oversized L shaped couch that was centered in the space.

“I’m Laurie.” She tilted her head at him and paused.

“Oh, uh, Michael.” Mickey scratched at his nose nervously, “Michael, uh, Markovich.” He hoped he sounded surer that he’d felt.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she continued nonplussed, “Well, Michael, I’m gonna run upstairs and get my pocketbook ok? Then I’m gonna get my phone and call up some of the ladies from the neighborhood to see if they wanna help too. You can’t be out here in this cold going door to door. I won’t have it.” He could only give a stunned nod as an answer.

She turned on her heel, “Aren’t you supposed to be in school today?” Curious or accusatory, Mickey wasn’t sure. He regretted coming here, he started to feel nauseous but there was no turning back.

“Its, uh, it’s a teacher workday today.” His mouth moved from sheer self-preservation, satisfied, Laurie smiled once more and disappeared up the stairs.

His hands, once numb, were now sweating profusely and he wiped them on the fabric of his pants. He waited a beat before jumping up and rummaging the living room. There was nothing of value he could take in the TV stand, nor in the drawers of the end tables. He pushed his hands down each couch cushion – he’d always find lost dollars and jewelry there when he’d help out back in the day, always giving it to his Ma to turn over to the homeowner. Today, any finds were his own. He came out with a five-dollar bill from the first cushion; in the next a sleeve of condoms that he shoved back down with a shudder. The next few were empty. He shoved his hand down the last cushion next to the armrest where his fingers came in contact with plastic.

Another sleeve of condoms, he figured, but he pulled it out anyways. Above him, he could hear Laurie ending a call at the top of the stairs and his pulse quickened as he looked at the last of his bounty. He almost laughed, but there was no time, instead he shoved the large bag of Cocaine in his pocket and threw himself onto his seat as Laurie began descending the stairs.

“Well, this is all I have on me.” She said dimly holding out a hundred-dollar bill to him, she seemed embarrassed there wasn’t more.

“No, no thank you. That’s amazing!” Mickey couldn’t have faked the enthusiasm if he tried. Even if that was all he made, he could offload the coke in his pockets to the guys next door for a decent sum and have enough for the lights and maybe even some food.

He’d come across Terrys stash on more than one occasion, had even seen the man do it a few times. Terry was always jovial after he inhaled a line of the drug, he’d make dinner for he and Mickey, then put on music and dance with Amanda in his arms until she fell asleep. He’d even walked in on a sale a few times, watching his dad hand over a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet in exchange for a bag that wasn’t anywhere near the size of the one he held in his pocket.

Laurie, however, didn’t match Mickey’s enthusiasm. “But, don’t worry, a few of the ladies are gonna be here in a few minutes to donate. They all want to help that boy at your school. What’s his name?”

“Who?”

“The boy. The one who you’re doing all this for?”

“Oh!” Mickey hadn’t thought of a name and he racked his brain for one, “Michael?”

Laurie looked confused and Mickey had to will himself not to bolt out the front door.

“But, I thought you were Michael?” Her lips turned down in a frown, he was too close to losing her.

“Yeah, uh, there’s two of us. I’m Mike M. and he’s Mike P. They usually call me Markovich and him Peterson, otherwise it gets pretty confusing.” He trailed off and hoped he sounded convincing. Laurie opened her mouth, but was cut off by the door knocker thudding against the door. Mickey chastised himself for jumping when she answered it.

Suddenly the house was filled with voices as a group of ten women followed Laurie into the living room. This was more than a few friends, the ladies, all wearing diamonds and fur coats better resembled a gaggle of walking dollar signs. Jackpot.

He could barely sit still on the train ride home, his pockets were stuffed with cash, more than enough for the bills and foods, and the day was still early. The newfound wealth made him giddy and he could scarce beat down the satisfied grin that cracked open his chapped lips the entire way back to the Southside.

His first stop was city hall. The clerk didn’t question why a boy so small had so many hundred dollar bills, she scarce looked at him except to inform him that the power would indeed be back on sometime that same day.

Next, he went to the grocery store and loaded up on any food he knew how to make on his own, namely, Ramen, sandwiches, and chef-boy-r-dee. He also bought a multipack of snickers bars, because he’s had a hard day of work, and he deserved it. He carried his haul back to the house on Zemansky Street and danced in the entryway when he flipped the light switch and was met with power.

He felt invincible, powerful, fucking amazing. He’d done it by himself. Who the fuck needed an adult anyways. Not him, that much was clear, and not Mandy – not as long as she had him.

After peeling off his coat, he put the food away meticulously, in a place that he wanted. This was his house now and nothing had to be on the top shelves anymore; he’d never have to climb up on the counter to reach anything again.

Throwing himself back on the couch, her emptied his pockets on the dirty coffee table. He still had over six hundred dollars in cash, which he kissed before folding it and placing it carefully in his pocket. That wasn’t even counting the bag of coke. He could sell it for good money, but not now. He’d keep it as his saving account, for the next time he was in a bind; he knew there’d be a next time.

He eyed the bag, before picking it up and opening the ziplock seal. It looked like flour, and putting his nose in, it smelled faintly of nail polish remover. He carefully dipped a finger in like he’d seen Terry do before, collected some on the tip of his pinky and rubbed it on his gums. The taste was acrid and the spot immediately went numb, but, in a weirdly good way.

Again, he put his hand in the bag, this time, pinching out a bit between his thumb and forefinger, and dropped it on the table. It clumped together, but he expected that and pulled out his pocket knife to crush it up into what he thought looked like a decent sized line. He just wanted to try it, see why so many adults liked it. It couldn’t be too bad if it actually made Terry nice, plus, he just made a shit ton of money, so he was responsible enough to handle it.

His plan was to try a bit and then put the rest away to sell at a later date. He pulled his wad of cash out and selected the crispest bill of the stack; rolling it tightly into a little tube, he put one end to his nose the other to the table, and inhaled.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this made me really, REALLY want to go buy blow. Holy fuck. It’s like when I watch the show and have to light a cigarette every time lip does. 
> 
> Damn subliminal messaging.  
> No snarky pleas today, comment if you want, and if you don’t, well, I’ll add it to my list of things to cry about at my next therapy session. 
> 
> ❤️


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